


What Never Changes

by NobodyInWonderland



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Demisexuality, Homosexuality, M/M, Mustang's Team, Post-Canon, and I have no clue where this is going now, but now they're headed to East City for some reason, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobodyInWonderland/pseuds/NobodyInWonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alphonse is gay.  Everyone expects Edward to have more of a reaction to this than he does.  Some things, however, never change - Edward's appetite, Edward's rage at Roy Mustang, and the fact that Edward supports his brother in everything.  But something still seems to bother Edward - and Alphonse begins to suspect it might have something to do with why his brother chose to work for Mustang again.</p><p>Spoilers for Brotherhood/manga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return to Central

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first published fanfic. I was toying with the idea of how Edward would respond if Alphonse came out as gay, when he himself was already struggling with a long-term crush on Roy Mustang. Then I thought I'd write it. Then I realized about halfway through the first chapter that I'm not going to be able to end it any time soon at the rate I'm going, if I write it how I want to write it - I like a build-up to a romance. This fic isn't really going to be much of anything that hasn't been done before, but I hope it is enjoyable anyway.

Alphonse was gay.

Figuring this out had somewhat surprised him. Alphonse had fought with Edward over Winry when they were younger, after all; and during his time in the armor he hadn’t really been interested in anyone, one way or another. In retrospect, the latter made sense. Without the biological impulses and hormones to affect his mental faculties, friendship and… well… _that_ sort of like didn’t seem all that far apart. But now, back in his body, hormones settled after recovering from its stint beyond the Gate, the truth was undeniable. He hadn’t wanted to admit it for several years; but once he chose to accept the fact, he hadn’t really seen the need to hide it.

Winry had been the first he'd told after Edward once he arrived back from Xing. After "Whaaaat? Really?" the first words out of her mouth were directed at Alphonse, but mostly for Edward. "I really hope Ed didn't act like too much of an idiot when you told him."

Alphonse thought that his brother's death glare said it all. But of course Edward would do more than glare. "The fuck, Winry? He's my brother. If he's happy then I am."

Winry blinked. "Well, that's good, then." She grinned at Alphonse. "So, who's the lucky fellow you've got your eye on, then?"

"Um, no one at the moment," Alphonse said. “But that’s okay, I’ll be busy for a while. I’ve got a lot to work on.” He grinned. “I need to organize my notes on alkahestry - and I need to visit Dr. Marcoh. I’d like his opinion on some of the Xingese medical theories…” He successfully steered the conversation toward his recent trip to Xing and his alkahestry research, but Alphonse noticed Winry stealing doubtful glances at Edward when she thought he wasn't looking. When Edward finally noticed, the look he gave her could have frozen lava.

Pinako - who he’d told next - had simply nodded and blown a ring of smoke out of her pipe, watching it float upwards toward the bright blue sky. “You take after your great-uncle, then.”

“My great uncle?”

“Those days, folk were a bit more judgemental, though. Old coot ran off to Central after a while to avoid the talk.” Pinako took a long, thoughtful drag from the pipe. “I heard he met a nice fellow there and settled down. Good for him.” Alphonse joined her in watching another smoke ring float upwards. “Have you told Edward yet?”

“Of course,” Alphonse said, surprise evident in his tone. “He’s my brother, after all.”

“He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?” Pinako smiled. It was the sort of smile that made Alphonse imagine terrible things happening to his brother if the answer was ‘yes’.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t,” intruded an extremely cross voice, belonging to the aforementioned Edward as he rounded the corner of the house. “Just how much of a backwards blockhead do you and Winry think I am?”

When Alphonse and Edward arrived in Central a few weeks later, Alphonse hadn’t expected to tell Mustang’s team - until he finally got tired of the teasing about Mei (apparently the military gossip vine was as good as their intelligence network) and he told them the truth simply to shut them up. Hawkeye had nodded without betraying a hint of surprise. Fuery had turned bright red, but smiled - Alphonse found himself thinking the reaction rather cute. Falman had murmured something that sounded like “I see,” and Havoc and Breda had slapped him on the back.

And then all of them attempted to surreptitiously glance at Edward - even Hawkeye. It wasn’t nearly subtle enough for Edward not to notice.

“Why is everyone looking at me?” Edward groused.

Hawkeye paused. “It is… quite unusual for you to take any... news... of this calibre quite so calmly, Edward.”

“You haven’t seen me in years, so expecting me to act like a fuckin’ kid is bullshit, Captain -”

“Major now.” Falman murmured.

“- _Major_ Hawkeye. Besides, he’s my brother. You of all people should know by now that all I plan to do is kick the ass of any numbskull bigot who gives him crap about it.”

That shut everyone up quickly enough. And reminded Alphonse to congratulate Hawkeye on her promotion.

The most recent episode was when Major Armstrong found out. The good Major had been attempting to set Alphonse up with his younger sister, and, again, Alphonse had decided that the best response was to tell the truth. This had resulted in Major Armstrong’s usual theatrical reaction.

"I see. Alphonse Elric, you are a truly brave boy to tell the truth - so clearly, so forthright!"

At this point, both Alphonse and Edward stiffened warily - the Major looked ready to start weeping, and there was no doubt that this would be followed by the Major's removal of his shirt.

Of course the Major wasn’t finished. “Not fearing the reactions of others, nor that of your brother -”

“WHY DOES EVERYONE THINK I’M A JERKASS DICKWAD WHO WOULD ACT LIKE A SHIT TOWARDS MY OWN BROTHER?” Edward screamed.

In reality, Edward’s reaction when Alphonse had told him had been remarkably understated. Alphonse hadn’t planned to tell him the way he did, but the time had felt right.

He’d caught Edward reading in their old room in Resembool. As usual, Edward was oblivious to the world when he read - he hadn’t left the room for seven hours, except for a break three hours in - and even then it had only been to eat lunch with Pinako, Winry and Alphonse before muttering his thanks and disappearing again. The stack of books beside him bore testament to the intensity of his research. Alphonse frowned as he glanced through the door - Edward was squinting, as the sunlight filtering into the room had long since ceased to throw a direct beam upon the book he held.

Thankfully, Alphonse had just the right weapon to enforce a break in his brother’s study. He breezed into the room and waved a plate of Winry’s apple pie under Edward’s nose, grinning when Edward blinked upward with the same face he made when Alphonse woke him in the morning.

“Winry said it’d ruin your dinner, Brother, but I reminded her that you could eat the entire pie and still finish three bowls of stew. Which is what we’re having for dinner, by the way.”

The corners of Edward’s mouth tugged upward. “Thanks, Al.” He took the pie and began to eat as if it would disappear if left alone for two seconds.

Alphonse flopped down onto the floor beside him. “What are you reading?”

“Just… stuff,” Edward said through a mouthful of pie. “Cretan alchemy isn’t that different from Amestrian. Except they’ve got those weird three-dimensional arrays, remember that? Not very practical so they aren’t used too often, but I’m trying to figure out what makes them act differently from regular arrays. I’ve gotten pretty far, but there’s still a few things that don’t make sense. I think it might be the way it draws power? I mean, it allows different parts of the circle to activate at slightly different times… but then why the hell does this line… and why do they act so _similar_ then? It seems like it’s overcomplicating things.” Edward frowned at the book in front of him.

Alphonse had meant to distract his brother from his research, and much as he wanted to find out more about what Edward was studying, it wouldn’t help if he got absorbed in it too. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Brother. I can look at it tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Al,” Edward grinned. He seemed to take the hint that Alphonse was trying to give him - _take a break and talk to me_ \- and he closed the book. Setting the empty plate aside, Edward looked up at Alphonse. “So, how was Xing? I know you told Granny and Winry and I all about it last night, but…” his brother’s face turned mischievous. “How did things go with a certain little princess?”

Alphonse sighed. “We tried dating for a while… but I… I just didn’t feel that way for her. I couldn’t.” He felt his stomach drop as he looked away, knowing he had to tell his brother sometime - and here, in this sunlit room, his brother smiling and full of apple pie, he doubted he’d have a better opportunity. “Brother, I’m gay,” he said quietly.

“Hmph,” Edward said. “I guess that _would_ throw a wrench in the plan of marrying into Xingese royalty. She didn’t take it too badly, did she?”

“Well, ah… she was really disappointed,” Al said, nonplussed that Edward hadn’t given an actual response to his statement. “And then Emperor Ling…” He blushed, but studied his brother’s face. Only the eyes of someone who had known his brother for years would see the tightness surrounding Edward's, though the usual warmth in them was unmistakably genuine.

Catching Alphonse’s scrutiny, Edward leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand. “I can’t imagine _he’d_ give you any shit about it. Did he spend the rest of your trip hitting on you?”

Alphonse put his face in his hands. “Every other sentence.”

“So maybe the marrying-into-Xingese-royalty plan is still a go?” Edward said, mischievous grin firmly back in place. The tightness around his eyes was gone, Alphonse noted when he peeked through his fingers.

Alphonse kept his head in his hands, where he could hide his face. This was not happening. He was _not_ having a conversation with his brother regarding royal Xingese suitors. “He has a country to run. And a… harem. I’m don’t think I’d do too well trying to share with everyone.”

Edward, at least, nodded understandingly. And that was that. Alphonse hadn’t heard anything further from him about the matter.

\-------

After arriving in Central, Alphonse had planned to leave for Ishval to find Dr. Marcoh, but those plans had been delayed thanks to Brigadier General Mustang. Mustang had been out of the offices when Alphonse and Edward had visited the first time; but Edward had disappeared from the brothers’ hotel room the next day without saying where he was going and returned with news. Not only was Dr. Marcoh due back in Central in three months, but Edward had negotiated for their use of the rebuilt First Central Library in exchange for temporary work as a military contractor.

“You’re working for the military again?” Alphonse said in a shocked tone.

“In a private capacity,” Edward replied. “I know there’s a few old books on Cretan arrays somewhere in the Library, and I bet there’s a few on medical alchemy there as well that you haven’t read. Remember that one - what was it, by Johann Bohn? _Practical Alchemy and Field Medicine_?

“Oh yeah! I guess it _would_ be nice to look at some of those arrays again. I can’t believe I didn’t think about that before! But Brother, are you sure it’s worth working for the military again?”

Edward shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not that bad. I’ll be reporting to Mustang again, and the work shouldn’t be that difficult. Mostly I’d be a bodyguard at political functions, or helping out Intelligence. I might not have my alchemy any more, but I still remember how to fight. Teacher would kill me if I’d let myself go soft.” Both brothers shared a shudder at the thought.

“Well, I’m coming with you, then,” Alphonse declared, mentally noting that working for Mustang again was supposed to be on the list of positives. Hadn’t his brother always hated working for Mustang?

“What? No!” Edward said. “This is my job. I can do it.”

“It’s not equivalent exchange if you’re the only one working and I get to use the library for nothing, Brother!”

After a rather loud argument, which Alphonse ended by threatening to remind Mustang of the property damage that tended to occur when Edward worked for him, Edward agreed to let Alphonse join him on his assignments.

That was how Alphonse ended up waiting in the outer office with Mustang’s team while the muted voices of his brother and Brigadier General Mustang floated through the closed door. The first time he’d joined his brother in Mustang’s office, the visit had devolved into a shouting match, which was even more unpleasant now that Alphonse was no longer stuck in armor - human ears _hurt_ when subjected to that volume of discord. Since then, Alphonse chose to spend the time with Hawkeye, Havoc, Breda, Falman and Fuery.

For the moment, he chose to sit in a spare chair next to Fuery, partially because Fuery’s desk was on the opposite side of the room from the door that led into Mustang’s office.

The other part, though Alphonse would never say it aloud, was because the shy man was… well, kind of cute, like a particularly friendly kitten. Or a puppy, but Alphonse liked kittens more. Not that Alphonse had a chance, but it didn’t hurt to hang around him, did it?

Havoc and Breda were busy discussing Edward’s visit. “I bet you lunch it’s five minutes till the yelling starts,” Havoc was saying.

“Two,” Breda countered with a grin. “And it’s from the Cretan place across the street.”

“Deal.”

Hawkeye narrowed her eyes at the two, who quailed. “Aw, come on Major, let us have a little fun?” Havoc said with uncharacteristic timidity.

Hawkeye cocked her head toward the door, listening to the rumble of Mustang’s voice and the higher-pitched reply. “Thirty seconds. And you both pay for the entire office. Edward and Alphonse, too.” She went back to filing the paperwork she was holding, ignoring the wide eyes of the two lower-ranking officers that followed her.

Alphonse watched Fuery’s reaction out of the corner of his eye. Fuery’s smile as he listened to the banter was adorable in a puppyish sort of way, though he continued his work as he listened - he seemed to be typing a report on some sort of communication device. “Sometimes I wonder if anything ever actually changed,” Alphonse said with a chuckle.

The smile was even cuter when it was shyly turned on himself. “You have your body back, and your brother has his arm back.” Fuery went back to his typing. “That’s change, isn’t it?”

Alphonse shrugged, then winced as he heard his brother’s voice raised in the next room. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING A MIDGET SO SHORT THAT ANTS USE HIM AS A FOOTREST?”

“I guess you’re right,” Alphonse sighed. “I still can’t tell if he’s gotten louder or if it’s just because I have human ears. At least he doesn’t get angry as often any more. I think the Brigadier General brings it out in him.”

Fuery nodded. “Same with the Brigadier General - your brother brings it out in him, too,” he said, as another scream from Edward was answered by a rumble much louder than it had been previously. “I think they like fighting,” Fuery added mildly, then chuckled.

Alphonse followed his gaze and watched the slump of Havoc’s and Breda’s shoulders as Hawkeye told them her lunch order. “Probably,” Alphonse said, smiling at the scene.

Havoc wandered over shortly afterward. “Seems lunch is on me today. What do you two want?” he asked with his usual rakish grin.

“I’d like a gyro with extra tzatziki sauce,” Fuery said.

“What he’s having,” Alphonse added.

Havoc glanced uncertainly toward the door from which raised voices drifted. “It might be a few minutes,” Breda called to him from across the room where he’d been talking with Falman, an equally doubtful expression on his face. “I really don’t want to interrupt those two.”

Hawkeye sighed long-sufferingly and opened the door. The voices hushed immediately when she disappeared inside. She reappeared a minute later with two pieces of paper, which she handed to Breda. He and Havoc disappeared shortly thereafter. Fuery continued to work on his manuscript, and the office settled into a friendly silence. Even Edward and Mustang had apparently settled their altercation, as the voices had returned to a reasonable volume. Hawkeye glanced between Fuery and Alphonse with an amused expression, causing Alphonse to blush; thankfully, it didn’t seem that Fuery had noticed.

Edward reappeared from the office a few minutes later, scowling. Alphonse waved. “Over here, Brother!”

Edward jerked a chair over roughly to position it next to Alphonse. “Cocky bastard,” he mumbled.

If they hadn’t been in an office full of Mustang’s men, Alphonse might have said something about how Edward had almost looked forward to working for Mustang before. Instead, he said, “What does the Brigadier General have for us this time?”

Edward’s face deepened into a scowl. “Bodyguard position. You and I are going to be escorting him on a visit to East City next week.”

Alphonse nodded in understanding, realizing why his brother was yelling. Edward had found the research notes of a Bernard Geihl relating to three-dimensional arrays in the Library, and was furiously working on decoding them in his spare time. This trip would delay Edward’s research by several days. Moreover, the bodyguard position was a mere formality this time, as opposed to when they had escorted some other political functionary - Hawkeye was perfectly capable of handling any true threats to Mustang, not to mention Mustang’s own formidable abilities. The only reason Edward and Alphonse were coming was for a display of force, and so that if Mustang _were_ attacked he didn’t have to dirty his spotless white gloves with bothering to defend himself. Edward always did hate “unnecessary sneaky manipulative bullshit”.

“Brother, you did take this job knowing -”

“Yeah, I know, Al. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Alphonse patted Edward’s shoulder. “Well, at least we get free meals out of it, right? And I haven’t seen East City for ages - it’ll be nice to visit again!”

Edward’s face softened. “Yeah, I suppose it isn’t that bad. And we get a free meal now,” he added, grinning as Havoc and Breda appeared in the doorway, arms laden with food.

“For you, and you,” Breda said, handing warm, paper-wrapped bundles to Fuery and Alphonse.

“And this is for you,” Havoc said, depositing a bag that appeared to be stuffed with similar paper-wrapped bundles into Edward’s lap with a martyred expression.

Edward only glared for a second before digging into his meal, adequately distracted by food. Alphonse and Fuery shared an amused glance.

Yeah, some things never changed.


	2. Train Ride

If listening to Mustang and Edward from the next room over was bad, it was nothing compared to sharing a train compartment with them.

At least the two weren’t yelling any more, thanks to Hawkeye’s carefully patient stare that turned to warning every time they seemed inclined to do more than glare at each other. Or, more accurately, Edward glared; Mustang maintained a stony facade that sometimes shifted into impatience before a glance at Hawkeye sent him back to staring out the window. However, despite the lack of fighting, the tense atmosphere prevented even Alphonse’s friendliness from easing the silence.

This wasn’t for lack of trying. Alphonse had commented on the weather, on the scenery, on East City, on the ostensible purpose of the visit, which was to pay a call on Colonel Abel Kurzmann, who had replaced Mustang in East City after Mustang's promotion to Central. The first few attempts at conversation made before Hawkeye had joined them had only resulted in noisy quarreling between the Brigadier General and Alphonse's brother. The last few attempts hadn’t even been remarked upon, apart from an apologetic glance from Edward; Hawkeye’s arrival had been precipitated by the yelling, and she had apparently decided that they needed her company to prevent them from further disturbing the other passengers.

Babysitting. She was babysitting them. Because two grown men - one of them Alphonse’s older brother - couldn’t keep their tempers in check. Alphonse wondered how on earth Edward had negotiated for his current job if this was how he reacted to Mustang’s presence in the same room.

Fuery had been right - these two must enjoy fighting. Pity that those around them had to feel the effects of it.

Alphonse stood up abruptly. “Brigadier-General Mustang,” he said formally, “permission to take a break, Sir.” Just because he’d known Mustang since he was a kid didn’t mean he didn’t feel the need to act professionally while on the job - unlike _his brother_. 

Mustang dragged his gaze away from the window, his face softening slightly. “No need to be so formal, Alphonse. You’re free for the next two hours, if you like - I’m sure that Edward can keep me safe if the need arises. Unless he decides to kill me himself.”

“Don’t be an idiot, _Sir_ ,” Edward responded sarcastically.

Alphonse raised his hands in surrender and escaped.

For some reason, Mustang had chosen to bring Havoc and Fuery along, leaving only Breda and Falman at the office. Alphonse suspected that this particular visit to East City was for more than the friendly visit it had been framed as. Pity that Edward had apparently ruined the chance of discussing their real purposes in the area. Fuery as the communications expert, Alphonse thought, and Havoc as the best of Mustang’s men for first-hand surveillance - suspicious indeed.

Fuery and Havoc were supposed to be in the compartment across from Mustang’s, but when Alphonse opened the door, only Fuery was present.

“Hello,” Fuery said, looking up from the suitcase he’d been poking in. He carefully closed it and set it aside, smiling welcomingly at Alphonse.

“Hi,” Alphonse replied, settling wearily into the opposite seat. “Sorry to barge in, but if I have to put up with those two any longer…” He took a deep breath. “Where’s Havoc?”

“He left for the dining car about half an hour ago.”

“It’s only 10:00 in the morning, though?” Alphonse said confusedly.

“I think… um… he spotted some pretty waitresses boarding,” Fuery said, a tinge of pink on his cheeks.

That explained it. “Ah.” He’d have to remember to ask Havoc about his most recent failures at womanizing after the trip was over. Though Fuery was so adorably awkward when talking about it that, if Alphonse had been any meaner of a man, he might have been tempted to ask further questions just to see him blush a deeper red. As it was, Alphonse smiled and changed the subject to one that he was more curious about. “I’m wondering why Brigadier General Mustang wanted my brother and I to come along anyway.” He let his eyes open just a fraction of a centimeter farther, trying to look as innocent as possible. “It’s not like he needs us with Hawkeye here.”

Fuery shrugged. “The Brigadier General doesn’t tell me everything. He told me to bring these along, though.” He opened the suitcase again and spun it to face Alphonse.

Inside were tiny devices of a sort that Alphonse had never seen before. He leaned forward interestedly, examining them without touching. “What am I looking at?”

Fuery lit up at the question. That was rather nice; Alphonse decided that he wanted to see Fuery light up like that more often. “They’re called bugs. See these wires?” He pointed to tiny filaments that spiked from each tiny bronze box. “Those are antennae for encrypted radio transmission. The main problem is power - about 80% of the mass is a battery. They’re designed to be hidden in out-of-the-way spots and broadcast conversations to my receiver.”

Alphonse’s eyes were wide. “But they’re so small! I guess I never thought that radios could be smaller than - well -” he his hands about a foot apart.

Fuery nodded. “They’re still in development. I made this set myself - I modified the internal wiring to take out a good deal of the bulk.” Pride shown in Fuery’s brown eyes behind the round glasses.

“That’s amazing! So, the Brigadier General told you to take them?” Alphonse leaned back. He was sure that he was right now - Mustang was up to something. “That could mean…”

Fuery nodded. “He’s up to something, probably.”

“Well, I knew that. He wouldn’t invite Brother along for the company.”

Fuery looked amused. And said nothing.

Alphonse looked at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

Fuery had no time to respond, since Havoc burst into the room, his hair soaked and water dripping down the front of his shirt. Alphonse and Fuery looked up simultaneously.

“First lieutenant? What happened to you?” Alphonse asked.

Havoc’s face took on an expression of pure tragedy. “A lady. No, not a lady - an angel. A cruel, cruel angel -”

Alphonse tried very hard not to laugh. Thankfully, he even managed to school his expression into the semblance of a sympathetic one. “She didn’t see you the same way, I guess?”

Havoc groaned and dripped his way to the spot next to Alphonse. “When I asked for her number she poured a glass of ice water on me.”

“And how many times had you asked for her number before that?” Alphonse continued.

Havoc wiggled his fingers in front of his face, as if counting. “Five,” he said. “Unless you count -” He frowned. “Six. Let’s go with six.”

Fuery sighed. Alphonse couldn’t contain his laugh. Havoc stared at Alphonse with a wounded expression before leaning to pull a suitcase from under the seat and rummage through it. He came up with a towel and a clean white shirt. “Fine. Laugh all you want. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it and get out of this shirt.”

Fuery and Alphonse both turned a bright red. “We’re not -” they both squeaked at the same time.

Havoc grinned slowly. “Sure, sure, if you can dish it out you’d best be prepared to take it.” He waved and whisked himself through the door of the compartment.

The room was silent except for the muted rumble of the train, and the laughter of other passengers a few compartments over. Alphonse risked a glance at Fuery, whose cheeks remained a bright cherry-red. Although Alphonse was dying to know why Fuery was so embarrassed by the offhand comment - it wasn’t like _Fuery_ was the one who might be trying to hide an interest - he decided to have mercy on the shy man.

“So, about those bugs… mind explaining exactly what goes into one?” Alphonse smiled encouragingly as Fuery dared to glance upward. “I know how a radio works so it’s easy to fix those if they break - if we’re going to be using these I should probably know how to alchemically fix them if I need to.”

Fuery nodded, thinking, then lifted the tray of bugs - carefully - and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he set on top of the suitcase lid after closing it. “These are my diagrams of this model.”

Alphonse looked over them, nodding. “Looks simple enough, though I’m familiar with there being a wire here in a regular radio…” He lightly traced an imaginary line with his finger.

Fuery brightened. “That’s one of my modifications. See, this sends the signal…” His hand brushed against the cuff of Alphonse’s shirt as he excitedly pointed to the diagram.

When Havoc returned, uniform coat and soaked shirt thrown over one arm, he found the two bent over Fuery’s notes and enthusiastically discussing communication devices.

\-------

An hour and a half later, Alphonse relieved Edward in the cabin with Mustang so that his brother could eat lunch. Hawkeye chose to eat then, as well, most likely because she no longer had to babysit the two. The tense atmosphere that Alphonse had walked in on slowly dissipated after he was left alone with Mustang.

Alphonse sighed. “I apologize for Brother’s temper, Sir. I know he is still grateful for the work and the library access, as am I.”

“I’m not sure that he can help it,” Mustang replied wryly. “One would think I’d be used to it by now.”

Alphonse frowned. “That’s no excuse.”

“Perhaps it isn’t,” Mustang said. “But he’s a valuable asset, regardless. His skills are undeniable. I don’t care if he throws a few tantrums, as long as he follows orders in the end.”

Alphonse nodded slowly. “An asset,” he repeated.

“An asset,” Mustang said firmly. “As are you.” Seeing Alphonse’s expression, he lowered his voice and added, “To claim anything else is to display a weakness for your enemies to aim at.”

Alphonse supposed that made sense. Back when Mustang had discovered that the previous Fuhrer was a homunculus, his men had been sent to the four corners of Amestris, and Hawkeye had been assigned as the Fuhrer’s personal assistant - all effectively hostages to keep Mustang on a leash. It seemed Mustang had never quite gotten over having his team used against him.

Something didn’t feel right about the word, though - Alphonse didn’t like it. With a rush of realization, he decided that this was because the word “asset” implied a _thing_ \- a tool to be used. Maybe this was why Edward didn’t want Alphonse to work alongside him. Edward was used to this - he’d had plenty of time to get used to being a dog of the military or a possession of Greed.

Suddenly, Alphonse wasn’t sure if he liked that, either. Maybe Edward was _too_ used to being treated as a possession. Hard as it was to believe that Edward would let himself simply be used by anybody, he’d gone back to the military all too easily.

When he had a moment to talk to Edward, Alphonse decided, it was time for a serious discussion.

He and Mustang sat in an awkward silence until Edward came back, stretching as he settled into the seat behind Alphonse. “The chefs here are great. You’ve got to try the steak, Al,” he said.

Apparently Hawkeye had elected to see if Mustang and Edward could avoid fighting for five minutes, as she had not shown up alongside Edward. Alphonse nodded at his brother. “Then maybe I will when I go to lunch,” he said easily.

Mustang chose that moment to lean forward. “Perfect. Edward, Alphonse, I’d like to discuss the upcoming mission with you two.”

Edward’s face was immediately guarded. “Mission?”

“Right. Mission. This is more than an ordinary social call.” Mustang’s face clouded. “We’ve been sent to investigate the activities of Colonel Kurzmann. Central Command has reason to believe that he’s colluding with groups… unfavorable to the current political atmosphere. Have you heard about the terrorist attacks near the Ishvalan border?”

Edward shook his head, his brow furrowed. Alphonse spoke. “I thought I saw something about it in the papers… but I thought that was just a few unconnected extremists?”

“The explosives were military-grade,” Mustang replied. “And money and ammunition seem to be rather badly documented in East City Headquarters. Worse, there’s reason to believe that the Colonel is working with someone higher in the chain of command.”

“Fuck,” Edward said eloquently.

“Indeed,” Mustang murmured. “While you two won’t be performing the main investigations, I plan to have Hawkeye free to assist Fuery and Havoc as needed, and so you will still function as my bodyguards as previously planned. However, I will need you on high alert at all times once we arrive - preferably not too obviously. If they suspect me of more than a friendly visit, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is sent after me.”

“So what’s our excuse for following you around like we’re attached at the goddamn hip?”

Alphonse caught the fleeting strange expression that passed over Mustang’s face at Edward’s phrasing, but dismissed it as the usual infuriating effect his brother had on the Brigadier General. “It’s not that unusual for a politician to have a bodyguard. I always had Hawkeye with me during previous functions of this nature. This time, she has time off to visit her friends and her grandfather’s estate. As it’s Fuhrer Grumman who sent us to investigate, she is assigned to deal with several matters regarding estate management. Obviously, with such a capable bodyguard, no one person can handle the responsibility - hence two military contractors.”

“Bullshit. You only need one of us. If you need us at all.”

Mustang inclined his head. “I _could_ send one of you to help Hawkeye and the others. However, it would be highly unusual to hire two contractors and only employ the services of one. I’ve claimed that Havoc and Fuery are along to perform routine inspections, but I can’t say the same for you or your brother.”

“Simple,” Edward responded easily. “Say you only hired one of us. I’m just travelling with you because Al’s my brother and I wanted to see East City again. Didn’t I, Al?” He grinned.

“But Brother -”

“It could work,” Mustang said. “But if you’re caught snooping in restricted areas, I won’t be able to bail you out without breaking cover.”

“Which is why I should do it,” Alphonse said impatiently.

“No,” Edward responded immediately.

“Yes, Brother,” Alphonse said. “Your leg clanks sometimes when you walk. Besides, I’ve been caught in plenty of restricted places before, haven’t I?”

“You were with me. And you were a _suit of armor_. ”

“You weren’t there in Xing,” Alphonse said, grinning. “And I wasn’t a suit of armor then, either.”

Edward stared at him, his expression wiped blank. “Al, I think you have forgotten to tell me a few things about your trip.”

“Oh, come off it, Brother, you haven’t told me everything about your trip to Creta!”

“Alphonse is best suited to the task, Edward,” Mustang interrupted. “As long as you think you can reign in your temper in public while we are, in your words, ‘attached at the hip’.”

“Who can’t hold his temper?” Edward grumbled, before realizing the way to press the advantage. “Wait, no, if I have to spend my entire time in East City with you, you bastard, I’ll -”

“Are you saying you can’t do your job, Edward?” Mustang said in a dangerous tone.

Edward straightened and looked unflinchingly into Mustang’s eyes. It occurred to Alphonse that the two had managed to avoid raising their voices for the entire conversation. So it _was_ possible. “Have I ever failed to do my job, _Sir_?”

“No,” Mustang responded, leaning back. “Caused immeasurable property damage while fulfilling your assigned duties, yes; failed, no. Very well, then. Alphonse, until we board a train returning to Central, you are a civilian under no official contract with the military.”

“Yes, Sir,” Alphonse said.

Alphonse was grateful for the change in assignment. Much as he loved his brother, he had a feeling he’d enjoy the assignment with Fuery and Hawkeye and Havoc much more than anything involving these two.

Belatedly, he realized that Fuery had very adroitly danced around the subject of the purpose of their mission. Alphonse had to give him credit - under that shy, innocent-seeming exterior, Fuery knew what he was doing when it came to military business. Which… made Alphonse like him even more. Damn hormones. _Even if he was into guys, he’s eight years older than you,_ Alphonse reminded himself.

In the meantime, Alphonse had to break up the argument that had ensued as Edward tried to protest Alphonse’s assignment. “Brother! Please stop trying to protect me. I can handle myself.”

“Yes, I know, Al! I just think -”

“No, you’re not thinking. I’m the sensible choice for anything involving stealth, and you know it.”

Edward sensed that note in Alphonse’s tone that meant, ‘if you keep arguing I’ll tell Mustang’s entire team all your embarrassing childhood stories at the next party,’ and he fell silent.

That settled, Alphonse rose. “Well, since I’m no longer officially your bodyguard, Sir, I believe I’ll go see if Brother’s right about that steak.”


	3. Arrival in East City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more angst than I anticipated, and a lot more talking. I think I have a better idea of what I'm doing with this story, at least! Hopefully the next chapter will have something besides dialogue.
> 
> I probably won't keep updating at this pace, but that's mainly because I made the mistake of starting this with finals coming up. I might keep writing as stress relief, but if I don't I plan to be back to this after I'm finished with those.

The steak was as delicious as Edward claimed, and the rest of the train ride passed much more pleasantly after Alphonse was roped into a game of blackjack with Fuery and Havoc. Hawkeye eventually joined them in the compartment, but refused the offer of a part in the game. The way she leaned her head back against the high back of the seat and closed her eyes, Alphonse would almost have thought her to be asleep - if he didn’t catch her eyes slitting open every so often when a passenger moved in the hallway or the train engine whistled in the distance.

By the time the train began to slow for its arrival in East City, Alphonse’s and Fuery’s pockets were a bit heavier and Havoc was bemoaning the thinness of his wallet. Alphonse would have felt worse if he actually believed that Havoc was in dire financial straits after the loss of a few hundred cenz. Fuery seemed inclined to ignore his superior, instead choosing to re-check the suitcase that held the bugs for the millionth time.

It was only then that Alphonse realized that silence had reigned in the compartment where Mustang and Edward were ensconced for a surprising number of hours. To Alphonse’s amazement, when he went to fetch his bag, he found the two animatedly discussing an alchemical treatise that Edward was showing Mustang.

Alphonse blinked in surprise when they looked up at him. Edward rolled his eyes, shuffled the treatise into his own bag, and continued talking. “And that’s why Leverenz’s theory is a load of crap. If the materials used to create an array made that much difference, then Dr. Gunther’s experiments would have demonstrated a standard deviation greater than the average 3.5%. It also doesn’t account for the array-less alchemy that you and Al use.”

Mustang shrugged. “I’m not disagreeing. But you have to admit, his work with sand was rather interesting.”

“Not if he mixed it with something beforehand. Sand’s good for hiding plenty of impurities - which could be used to affect the transmutation.”

“So you’re saying he might have intentionally tweaked the results?”

“Why not?” Edward said. “If he’d made an actual breakthrough, he might have had a shot at the state alchemist program. Problem is, he’s a fucking fraud who’s going to get laughed out of Central University as soon as everyone realizes that his results can’t be replicated.”

Alphonse had only intended to grab his bag, but he paused to listen to the discussion. He’d seen the treatise in question, and agreed with his brother on its quality. It eased his mind to see him getting along with Mustang for once. Of course it would be alchemy that caused a truce. Though Alphonse was entirely unsurprised that his brother was so easily swayed by a good scientific discussion, he sometimes forgot that Mustang was no slouch at the subject himself.

He turned toward the door so he could leave them to their newfound peace, but Edward interrupted his departure. “Hey, Al!”

“Yes, Brother?” Alphonse turned toward him.

Edward opened his mouth then paused. Glancing at Mustang, he only said, “Good luck.”

“You too, Brother. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other - we’re sharing a room at the hotel, right?”

“Actually, Brigadier General Bastard here is worried about the hotel being attacked, so you might want a room of your own.” Edward glared. “If things get dicey I could be up at odd hours to keep an eye out while he gets his goddamn beauty sleep. For the record,” he added, directed at Mustang, “I don’t know how Hawkeye puts up with you.”

“If it comes to that I will of course take my own turns keeping watch,” Mustang said. “It would merely be a precaution. And Hawkeye is indeed a marvelous woman.” While he spoke, the train screeched and jerked to a final halt.

Edward jumped to his feet and brushed past Alphonse, seemingly suddenly eager to escape the compartment. He muttered something as he passed, and Alphonse thought he heard the words, “fucking marry her already.”

Alphonse followed his brother out the door. Edward halted in the hallway, sighed and spun to wait for Mustang to leisurely stretch, pick up his valise and join them. Mustang handed his valise to Edward, which provoked a threatening glower but surprisingly little argument. Hawkeye, Havoc and Fuery joined them a moment later, and Alphonse shuffled to the side to let them pass. Falling into step behind Fuery, he followed the group off the train.

By the time Alphonse deboarded, three military officers were greeting Mustang, and one of them Alphonse recognized as Colonel Kurzmann himself. He’d only seen the Colonel a few times in passing - a skinny, middle-aged man with dirty blond hair that fell into a perpetual cowlick despite the Colonel’s obvious attempts to slick it back with hair oils. From what gossip Alphonse had heard, Kurzmann had mainly been promoted due to his years of service rather than his actual achievements, which were barely more than average.

“I am honored to receive a social call from a distinguished officer such as yourself,” Kurzmann was saying. “Of course all our resources are at your disposal while you are here.” He surveyed the group that crowded behind Mustang. “And for your subordinates, too, of course.”

“Thank you.” Mustang replied. He gestured toward Hawkeye. “Major Hawkeye was asked by the Fuhrer himself to take care of some personal matters for him. I trust that every effort will be made to accommodate her.”

“Of course, of course.” He nodded and motioned to the officer standing beside him to take Hawkeye’s bags. The other soldier paused uncertainly, obviously debating whether to take the luggage that Edward carried, some of which obviously had to be Mustang’s. He decided to refrain when Edward’s glower was turned on him.

“And to think you brought Edward Elric with you!” Kurzmann continued. “I was sure you’d left the military, though, Mr. Elric?”

“Couldn’t stay away,” Edward responded neutrally. Alphonse was proud of him. “I’m in the military contracting business now. So’s my brother, but he’s on leave at the moment.” Edward jerked his thumb at Alphonse, who shuffled out from where he’d been half-hidden by Havoc. “For some reason he thought East City was a good vacation spot.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Colonel,” Alphonse said, smiling his most charming smile. When he’d met Kurzmann previously, he’d been a suit of armor - which meant that Kurzmann had only recognized Edward.

“Military contracting, eh?” Kurzmann said. He eyed Alphonse speculatively. “I might have a job for you, if you’re willing to take a bit of time out of your vacation.”

Alphonse held up his hands. “Thank you, Sir, but I think I would like to spend some time seeing the city and catching up with people. It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” Kurzmann said jovially. “Brigadier General, Sir, I have cars waiting for you and your party. Allow me to escort you to your hotel.” Alphonse hung back and began to shuffle away toward the luggage pickup, where more soldiers were already picking up the bags of Mustang’s team. “Mr. Alphonse Elric, you’re welcome to come along as well. There’s no need for you to pay for a taxi, after how well you and your brother have served the military.” Alphonse was favored with a sharp glance.

Of course the story of his ‘vacation’ would be doubted at once. However, the Colonel would likely be on high alert if he was indeed involved with terrorists, no matter what story they told.

He followed the group toward the waiting cars, breathing in the air of East City. _So this is what it smells like._

\-------

About an hour after Alphonse had settled into his single-bed hotel room, someone knocked on the door. Alphonse was entirely unsurprised when he opened the door to find Edward standing in front of it, smelling faintly of soap and damp, tangled hair shoved hastily back into a ponytail. Edward shifted his weight uneasily and mumbled something that Alphonse didn’t catch.

Alphonse opened the door wider. “Come in, Brother.”

Edward shuffled into the room and looked around, reminiscent of a kitten suspicious of a new environment. Alphonse crossed the room and patted the bed, then bent to dig through his suitcase. “Let me comb your hair. For old times’ sake.”

Some of the tension eased from Edward’s shoulders, and he flopped down on the bed next to Alphonse. “I don’t like this, Al. Mustang’s a little too cagey about this whole business. It’s not like him.”

Alphonse held up a comb and motioned for Edward to turn around. He started working on the lowest knots, gently teasing the hair out of them with the comb. “He told us more than he used to.”

“Yeah, but there’s still something he’s keeping his mouth shut about.” Edward’s shoulders tensed again. “He could take out ordinary attackers with one snap of his fingers, and that was before he went through the Gate. If he were as worried as he’s acting, then you’re the one who still uses alchemy - and he knows you’re a better fighter than I am. So why me? Why am I the one stuck with him? Why is he acting like he _needs_ me? I just… don’t get it. It’s not like he even _likes_ me. Sometimes I wonder why he even bothered to hire me again.”

Alphonse’s fingers paused for a moment before resuming their delicate work on his brother’s hair. Mustang had told him that his brother was an asset. Useful. _A thing to be used._ “Give yourself more credit, Brother. He’s seen plenty of your work before and he knows how good you are.” Alphonse stared narrowly at a particularly stubborn knot about halfway down Edward’s back. “I’m more curious about why you decided to work for him again.”

Edward shifted. “I told you, the library -”

“I didn’t ask why you decided to work for the military. I asked why you decided to work for _him_. Though I’m still not sure it was a good idea for you to go back to the military.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Edward said in a low voice.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re doing,” Alphonse replied.

“Do we really have to talk about this now, Al?”

“When else are we going to talk about it?”

“When we’re not in the middle of a fucking mission and I’m not about to blow a gasket because I have to put up with an indefinite amount of asshole commanding officers.”

Alphonse was silent, but he didn’t cease his work on Edward’s hair. Most of the tangles were out by now, and Alphonse was enjoying the simple feeling of running the comb through his brother’s hair. Just like the old times after he’d gotten his body back. When it was just them and Winry and Pinako, and Alphonse was delighting in every new sensation, including the silky drift of Edward’s hair through his fingers.

Only, this wasn’t the old times. Edward and Alphonse were older, and they’d been apart for several years. There were things they didn’t tell each other. Things that Alphonse didn’t understand about Edward. Things that might have always been there, and that Alphonse never noticed until now.

Edward’s shoulders relaxed bit by bit as Alphonse worked silently at his hair. “Sorry, Al. This is just getting to me for no reason, really.”

Alphonse sighed. “I’m just worried about you, Brother.”

“I know,” Edward replied quietly.

Alphonse waited for something further - _Just trust me for now, Al_ or _I can take care of myself_. No response was forthcoming.

When Edward finally broke the silence, it was with an entirely unexpected question. “Al, how did you know that you were gay?”

Al dropped the comb.

Edward turned to face him. Alphonse felt his cheeks burning. “What sort of question is that?!”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Edward mumbled. “But I… well… please, Al?”

Alphonse motioned for Edward to turn around again, and began to absentmindedly separate the hair into three thick strands for braiding. “Well, I guess after I got my body back, I had... hormones.” Of all the awkward things to discuss with his brother… “And whenever I saw a really cute guy, it was pretty obvious. I tried to pretend I didn’t care for a while, but not too long after I got my strength back… well, do you remember our neighbor John?”

“You were interested in _John_?” Edward said in an incredulous tone. “That old bore?”

“I wouldn’t say I was interested. I mean, even I have a hard time listening when he starts talking about farming. But he was pretty cute, you know. I guess I suspected when I tried to think about Winry the same way and couldn’t - she’s cute and all, but it’s not the same. Though I didn’t really admit it to myself until I tried dating Mei. Winry’s always been like our sister, after all.”

Edward nodded. “But it was guys in general who you liked? Not just one in particular?”

“Hold still,” Alphonse said. “No, there wasn’t anybody in particular.” He’d had his crushes like anyone else, but he figured that Edward wasn’t after a night of discussing Alphonse’s crushes like they were a couple of teenage girls at a sleepover. “What’s the matter, Brother? You should know more about this stuff than I do. Didn’t you propose to Winry before you left for Creta?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s one thing I’m worried about. See… I think I might have to break it off with her.”

Alphonse paused, then gave the ponytail holder one last twist around the end of Edward’s braid. He belatedly realised that he hadn’t seen Edward wear his hair in a braid since he returned from Creta - only in a ponytail. Oh well, Edward hadn’t stopped him. “Why? Aren’t you in love with her?”

“I love her,” Edward said, not turning around. “I’m not _in_ love with her. I wanted to see her happy. Smiling. I still want that. And it’s not like - I mean, if I were going to marry someone, I can’t imagine being happier with anyone else? But I’m not in love with her, and she deserves someone who is, someone who’s attracted to her like that, and -” He buried his face in his hands. “I made a mistake. She still expects me to return some day, and I need to tell her not to wait. I’m going to make her cry again, Al.”

Al put his hand on Edward’s shoulder and squeezed. “Brother, you’re not…” He left the words trailing in the air. _Gay_. _Like me_.

Edward looked down at his hands. “I don’t know, Al. I think I might just be broken. Women, men… it’s just… nothing. You _knew_ , Al. It’s only…”

“Only what?”

“Never mind.” Edward stood. “I should get back to Mustang. I bet he’s already mad that I’m not standing in his shadow right now.”

Alphonse reached for Edward’s arm, but his fingers closed on air. Edward paused halfway to the door. “Thanks, Al. Sorry I’m causing you so much trouble.”

“You’re not -”

A gunshot echoed nearby. Both Elrics froze for a split second, and then Edward was out the door and running. Alphonse followed, catching up in a few strides. “Mustang,” Edward breathed as he ran, face pale.

Alphonse nearly ran into Edward when his brother stopped in front of another door. Edward knocked, paused for a moment then unlocked the door with a key drawn from his pocket and threw it open. Alphonse stopped in the doorway to take in the scene that greeted him.

The window was shattered, glass scattered across the bed, and there was no sign of Mustang in the room.

Edward silently bounded toward the window, then stopped, bending to examine something. He narrowed his eyes, then stepped more carefully over the shards of glass to peer out the broken window. Alphonse noticed the bathroom door cracked, and a light shining around it… just as Mustang’s voice spoke quietly. “Stay away from the window.”

Edward’s head snapped in the direction of the voice as Mustang slid out of the bathroom. “I thought you said they wouldn’t attack for two days.”

“I was wrong,” Mustang said.

Edward looked torn between worried and gloating. Mustang's gaze lingered on Edward's hair before he glanced Alphonse, then he continued. “Obviously, it seems I’m not safe in this room tonight. And given that no one has been sent to check out gunshots, it’s not unlikely that the hotel owners are in collusion with the sniper. Edward, I’m afraid that I must request the use of your room for tonight.”

Edward shrugged. “Sure, I can stay with Al.” He glanced at Alphonse, who nodded.

Mustang paused. “Very well,” he finally said. “Though tomorrow, when they find out that I am not, in fact, dead, we may need to up our security. Which means keeping watch.”

Edward nodded. Apparently the shooting had bothered him enough that he didn’t see reason to argue. “Understood.” Edward tossed a key to Mustang. “Room 256. We’ll be in 253.”

“Very good,” Mustang replied. There was an awkward pause, before Edward turned toward the door and pushed past Alphonse and into the hallway. “Good night, Edward, Alphonse,” Mustang said as Alphonse turned to follow him.

“Good night, Sir,” Alphonse replied cheerfully.

Edward didn’t reply.


	4. Talking Shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... So this is still mostly talking. I guess I should probably submit to my inevitable fate of drowning in dialogue, since it seems to be moving the story along just fine. At least I managed to get to the start of hopefully more exciting parts. I haven't written this much in ages, and I'd forgotten just how long-winded I get. One of these days I'll learn to write a short story, I swear.

The next morning, Alphonse staggered into the hotel’s dining room, white shirt rumpled and not fully tucked in to dark brown slacks, and slumped at a table. The only word the waiter got out of him for the first ten minutes was “Coffee.” When the beverage was brought, Alphonse drank the burning liquid in two gulps and asked for another mug.

By his third cup he was feeling more like himself, and was straightening his shirt when Fuery wandered into the dining room. Fuery spotted him and hesitated before wandering over and dropping into the chair across from him. Alphonse managed a wobbly smile and a murmured “Hello”.

Fuery offered him an inquiring, big-eyed stare that held a hint of concern. “Is everything alright?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Alphonse replied truthfully. After they’d returned to their hotel room the night before, Edward had fallen asleep almost immediately, not even bothering to change out of his clothes or climb under the blankets. Alphonse had followed shortly after. However, Edward’s nightmares had been particularly bad, which caused a lot of tossing, turning and talking (along with a little bit of yelling). Given the close quarters enforced by the the twin-sized mattress and the fact that Alphonse was a light sleeper, he’d been woken up several times before giving up and attempting to sleep on the small, too-short, too-hard couch. There, his sleep had been almost entirely nonexistent. By the time the morning sunlight filtered through the dusty-looking curtains over the window Alphonse had developed a painful knot in his neck from his attempts to find a comfortable position. Of course, Edward hadn’t woken up once.

Now, Alphonse tried to work at the knot with his fingers, perking up when he spotted the waiter headed in his direction with a coffeepot.

Fuery nodded sympathetically, but didn’t ask questions. Bless him. Alphonse was finally awake enough to think about food, and he ordered pancakes. “What he’s having,” Fuery said when the waiter turned to look at him expectantly, then smiled at Alphonse.

Alphonse smiled back, this time genuinely, recognizing his own words from a week ago. How was a military officer eight years his senior this cute? he wondered for the fiftieth time.

“So, what are the plans for today?” Alphonse said idly, taking a swig of coffee. Normally he didn’t drink it in this amount, but somehow he felt he’d need it today. He wondered how much Fuery knew about the events of the previous night.

Fuery hesitated. “Havoc and I were out with Elizabeth, Jacqueline and Kate last night, and they were pretty insistent that we stop by their shop this morning. You should come too. We don’t have to perform the inspection till this afternoon, so we’ve got the morning off.”

Wait, what?

“Elizabeth and Jacqueline?”

Fuery looked slightly uncomfortable. “They really want to meet you. They’ve heard a lot about you. I hear they’ve hired a new girl who’s a big fan of you and your brother.”

Alphonse figured this was an excuse to get him away from the hotel, where listening ears could be everywhere. He shrugged and raised his mug of coffee to his lips, downing the remainder of the cup. “Sure, it’s not like I’ve got anything pressing to do this morning.”

Fuery nodded. He looked at the mug empty mug that Alphonse still held. “Is the coffee any good?”

Alphonse shrugged. “Passable. I’ve had better.” He set the mug on the table. “That’s one of the things I really missed in Xing, though. All they had were weird teas. Not to say they weren’t good, but they weren’t _coffee_.”

“Really?” Fuery’s eyes opened even wider - or maybe it was the round glasses that constantly gave him that look of wide-eyed, innocent curiosity. “What else was different in Xing?”

The pancakes arrived remarkably quickly while Alphonse talked about Xingese culture. By the time the two were halfway done with their breakfast Havoc showed up, yawning and earning disapproving glances from the waiters at the cigarette hanging from his lips. He joined them at the table, slouching lazily in the chair. “Anyone seen the Brigadier General yet?”

“No,” Fuery responded.

“No,” Alphonse echoed. 

“Ah well,” Havoc said, shrugging. “Stands to reason he’d slack off the moment Hawkeye’s busy.”

“First lieutenant, Sir! Alphonse said he’d come to the shop with us this morning,” Fuery said.

Havoc grinned. "Did he? The girls will be happy about that. You should hope they don't get too attached, though, Alphonse." He yawned. "Man, did they keep us up late last night."

Alphonse was feeling awake enough now to realize that being "out late" explained why none of Mustang’s men had bothered to check on him after the gunshot. They likely didn’t even know about the attack. Looking around the room, he decided that this wasn’t the place to discuss it. Would Mustang even want him to say anything about the matter?

Mustang didn’t appear until Alphonse was headed out of the dining room; he nearly collided with the Brigadier General coming through the doorway. Mustang was followed by Edward, who wore his usual dour expression that appeared when Mustang was involved.

“Good morning, Alphonse.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

Mustang moved on, but Edward stopped in the doorway. “Looks like I’ll be busy today, Al,” Edward said. “See you tonight.”

“Alright,” Alphonse said. “Take care of yourself, Brother.”

Edward watched Mustang as he took a seat at the table next to the one that Alphonse had just left, where Havoc and Fuery still sat. “Of course. Can’t protect anyone if I get hurt myself, right?” He headed across the room and settled into the seat that Alphonse had recently vacated, ignoring a greeting from Havoc.

Alphonse continued toward the stairway leading to his room.

About an hour later, he was following Havoc and Fuery along a narrow East City street in the warehouse district, carrying a large, heavy box that Havoc had told him was ‘a present for Kate’. Although he could still hear the sound of traffic nearby, the narrow street they were walking along was mostly abandoned. Without warning, Havoc ducked into the crumbling doorway of a dilapidated building, and Fuery held up a hand to stop Alphonse from following.

A minute later, Havoc reappeared and motioned them inside.

As soon as they had entered, Alphonse opened his mouth, but Havoc shook his head. Fuery, meanwhile, spent some time poking at the walls with a tool he’d taken from his jacket pocket, then set down the smaller box that he’d been carrying. He knelt beside it, took out a pair of headphones and began to fiddle with something in the box. A few moments later, he shifted the headphones away from his ears, allowing them to hang around his neck, and nodded. “All clear, Sir,” he said to Havoc.

“Great.” Havoc, in the meantime, had taken a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. The embers glowed brightly in the dark, dusty room. “We weren’t followed. This place should still be secure. Now we just have to wait for Elizabeth. Er, Major Hawkeye, I mean.”

“Major Hawkeye?” Alphonse asked.

Fuery turned to Alphonse. “In covert operations we use codenames when speaking in public about our missions or when contacting each other by radio. The premise is that we are employees in a local shop.”

“Female employees,” Havoc interrupted. “So the Brigadier General can pass himself off than an even bigger flirt than he already is when he’s trying to discuss things with us.”

“I think I get the general idea,” Alphonse said. “Elizabeth is the Major. Which means…”

“First Lieutenant Havoc is Jacqueline, and I am Kate,” Fuery said soberly.

“And you’re Alice now,” Havoc grinned. “Welcome to the team.”

Alphonse nodded. A thought striking him, he asked, “Captain Falman and Second Lieutenant Breda?”

Havoc snorted a laugh. Fuery responded, still completely serious, “The Captain is Vanessa, and the Second Lieutenant is Braidykins.”

“ _Braidykins_?”

A female voice interrupted. “As Second Lieutenant Breda was less suited for field work, it was unnecessary for him to be given a codename. However, I believed it unfair that he should be the only one left out.” Hawkeye stood in the doorway.

Havoc and Fuery saluted. Alphonse himself stood straighter. Hawkeye walked into the room, pushing the door mostly shut behind her. “Alphonse, the Brigadier General has placed your orders in my hands for the duration of this mission. I trust that you deem this acceptable.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alphonse said.

“Very good. As First Lieutenant Havoc and Sergeant Major Fuery have business this afternoon in the East City Quarters, and I of course have my own business to attend to, your job will be to monitor the equipment.” She glanced at Fuery. “Last night we added a wiretap to Colonel Kurzmann’s phone line, and we will be attempting to place an audio device in the Colonel’s office during the inspection today in hopes of catching his co-conspirators. Take note of any person he contacts, as well as the contents of his conversations. In case of an emergency, you may contact the Fuhrer’s estate and ask for me. Inform them that you need to discuss a dress order I placed with you, as you have encountered some complications. This is the number,” she said, handing a scrap of paper to Alphonse.

“Yes ma’am,” Alphonse said again.

“First Lieutenant, Sergeant Major. You should know that the Brigadier General was attacked last night by a sniper. While measures are being taken to ensure his safety - as well as the safety of Alphonse’s brother - you will need to take extra care for yourselves.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused, though Alphonse thought that both looked worried and Havoc looked like he had more questions to ask.

Hawkeye turned back to the door. “I have business of my own to attend to. Alphonse, Sergeant Major Fuery will explain everything you need to know about the equipment.” And then she was gone.

The three took the boxes - Alphonse guessed that all were various types of radio equipment - deeper into the building, climbing a dusty set of rickety stairs to a small second story room with a window that looked out on the street from which they’d come. Fuery immediately went to work removing equipment from the boxes and connecting wiring busily, humming a little tune as he worked. Havoc stood beside the window where he could watch the street without being seen himself.

Eventually, Fuery nodded and motioned for Alphonse, who had been awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, to join him. Alphonse crouched beside him as Fuery rapidly explained the various dials, buttons and lights in low tones. Occasionally he leaned close to Alphonse to point to something, and Alphonse felt his cheeks warm at the proximity - especially when Fuery’s wrist fleetingly brushed against his knee. Thankfully he understood most of the workings of the radio equipment already, because Alphonse was hopelessly distracted. He hoped that the lighting in the room was dim enough to hide the shade that his skin was turning. Strangely enough, he almost imagined a similar hue in Fuery’s cheeks.

“I think I’ve got the gist of it,” Alphonse said when Fuery finished his explanations and smiled at him. “When did you say you’d have the bug installed?”

“About mid-afternoon,” Fuery said. “If all goes well.”

“Perfect,” Alphonse grinned. He settled more comfortably into the midst of the various electronic devices while Fuery got to his feet. “Good luck.”

He really could have sworn that Fuery’s cheeks were pinker than normal. “Ah - you too.”

Havoc rolled his eyes at something as he pulled away from the window. “Alright, let’s get going. It won’t do to keep the Brigadier General waiting.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fuery said, and the two departed, leaving Alphonse to place the headphones over his ears and wait for Colonel Kurzmann to make a phone call.

A few minutes of silence later, he shook his head and chuckled. “Braidykins.”

\-------

About midway through the afternoon, Alphonse was bored, stiff from sitting on the floor, and second-guessing why he’d volunteered to listen to Colonel Kurzmann talk about incoming shipments of food supplies. By the time a green light flicked on to show that the bug was active, he’d solved several alchemical problems he’d been working on and doodled transmutation circles on every spare bit of floor in his vicinity where the dust had settled heavily enough to trace visible patterns. Tomorrow, he planned to bring a notebook and a pencil.

Switching the radio frequency to match that of the bug, Alphonse found that he’d tuned in to a meeting between Colonel Kurzmann and Mustang.

“...would be honored,” Mustang was saying. “And I thank you for your generosity. However, I am not sure how long I can be away from Central, and there is no need to go to so much trouble in case I am called away.”

“Forgive me if I overstep my position, Sir, but you work too hard! Everyone knows the name of Brigadier General Mustang. Surely you of all people should be allowed to attend one modest dinner with your old comrades-in-arms of East City,” Kurzmann responded.

“Perhaps it is because I work so hard that Central can not be without me for long,” Mustang said, and Alphonse could hear the controlled amusement in his voice.

“Indeed, Sir. At least allow East City the honor of a celebration of your visit tomorrow evening. My wife has long desired to meet you.”

“If it please you,” Mustang responded. “And now, I’m afraid I should retire to my hotel. I must confess that I am slightly under the weather, and it would be a shame to miss the opportunity to meet your lovely wife.”

Alphonse felt a twinge of worry. Mustang was never sick, and would never have admitted it if he were. He must be feeling under the weather indeed.

“Ah, yes, by all means,” Kurzmann said. “Mr. Elric, I trust that you will accompany him tomorrow?”

“If those are my orders,” came the indifferent voice of Edward. Alphonse doubted that anyone besides himself would notice the hint of tension in that voice. His brother might be occasionally capable of self-restraint in polite company, but it always wore on him. “I’m just a military contractor.”

“Just a military contractor? _You_? The Fullme-”

“Yes. And right now my contract isn’t to keep the Brigadier General waiting.” Now the full-blown annoyance was far more evident.

“Many apologies, Sir.”

A pause, and then Alphonse heard the sound of a door opening softly and closing much louder. At least Edward was doing a better job than usual with controlling his temper - no actual outbursts seemed to have happened.

The office was silent for a few minutes except for the scratching of pen on paper, and then Alphonse heard a clicking sound. A few seconds later, the light signaling that Kurzmann’s phone line was in use flickered on, and Alphonse flipped frequencies to the wiretap signal.

“Yes?” said a man’s voice.

“Change of plans,” Kurzmann snapped. “It’s got to happen tonight. I’ll be busy tomorrow - since you asses failed last night, I’ve got a dinner to plan for the visiting Brigadier General. I can’t afford to be called away to an investigation in the middle of it all and get his attention focused on me.”

“Why not just take him out tonight?”

“I’d love to, but he’s going to be on the lookout for more attempts. I don’t like the look of the Fullmetal brat, he’s as bad-tempered as ever and I think he suspects me. Just go with what we talked about.”

“Ishvalan camp attack? Yeah, sure,” the voice said lazily. “You know where to leave the money.”

“Of course I do, now get to work.” Kurzmann abruptly ended the call. Alphonse switched back to the bug’s frequency, but heard nothing further besides slightly louder scratching sounds.

Was the Colonel an idiot, Alphonse wondered? First of all, discussing murder and terrorism openly on a military phone line with a suspicious Brigadier General in town was the most irrational method of operation that Alphonse could think of. Second, did the man really want to draw the attention of Central that badly? None of the reported attacks had reached East City so far, and it was as if Kurzmann were now drawing a giant arrow that pointed to himself.

Either way, this was definitely news that needed to be reported to Hawkeye. Alphonse picked up the phone beside him and dialed the number from the scrap of paper. On the third ring, someone picked up and a woman’s voice said, “Estate of Fuhrer Grumman, state your name and your business, please.”

Alphonse scrambled for a name that didn’t give him away at once. “Alan Fromms. Ms. Riza Hawkeye placed an order with our shop, and we have encountered some complications. May I speak with her, please?” he asked in his most charming tones.

“What sort of order?” the woman said suspiciously.

“A dress order, ma’am.”

“Hmph. Please hold.”

Alphonse waited, and a few minutes later he heard Hawkeye’s voice on the other end of the line. “Mr. Alan Fromms, what a pleasure to hear from you. Is something wrong?”

Alphonse hesitated. Was the line secure? “Well, ma’am, the dress you ordered…”

“If there is a problem with my order then please don’t waste time with niceties. I’m a busy woman, you know. I should hope we can reach a reasonable resolution with minimal fuss.”

That answered that question. “Kurzmann spoke with an unidentified man on the phone. He was definitely responsible for last night’s sniper, but plans to hold off on anything further because he’s not sure he can get past the Brigadier General with his guard up. Instead, he sent someone to attack the Ishvalan camp tonight.”

Hawkeye was quick to respond. “I didn’t know you had a branch in the area. Is it hard to find?”

“Somewhat,” Alphonse said sheepishly. He remembered the camp from when he’d been there with Scar, but in those days the Ishvalan refugees had needed to hide from the military to survive. The place wasn’t one that just anyone could wander into. “I believe I’d recognize the path once I found it, but it’s been a while. I couldn’t give directions to it.”

“I think that will be a reasonable solution to the problem. Jacqueline remembers some of my preferences, so if she helps you it might be resolved more quickly.”

“You want me to take Havoc with me and go there myself?”

“Affirmative. I believe the shop closes at five, correct? I won’t expect you to work overtime on my account, when the problem wasn’t caused by your shop.”

“And I’ll stay here until five, then head to the camp,” Alphonse affirmed.

“Yes.”

“Just to warn you, Major… this seems a bit fishy. He’s launching an attack the day after the Brigadier General arrives? He’s either an idiot or he’s up to something bigger.”

“There’s always risks when placing an order, but I will not take lesser quality work when I’ve paid this much.” Hawkeye’s voice softened. “I trust your shop to offer the best workmanship available.”

“I hope he’s an idiot, then,” Alphonse sighed.

“Thank you, Mr. Fromms. You have a wonderful day as well.” _Click._

And that’s how Alphonse found himself taking alleyways and back streets alongside Havoc a few hours later. Fuery had replaced him in the abandoned building surrounded by electronics, and Havoc and himself had stopped at the hotel to change into darker clothing designed for stealth. They’d barely gotten out of the hotel before Havoc was grinning in a way that had Alphonse feeling slightly worried.

Alphonse eyed him until Havoc finally said what he’d obviously been dying to say.

“So, you and Fuery, eh?”

He’d been right to be worried.

Alphonse spluttered. “Wha - no - it’s not like that - I mean, well -”

Havoc laughed. “Don’t give me that, I can tell you’re interested. He’s a good kid and so are you. It’s not a bad thing.”

Alphonse narrowly examined the rough pavement. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s interested. He’s eight years older than me, and he’s got a career, which is more than I can say for myself. I don't really know him that well - it's not as though he talks about himself much. I don't know if he even likes men."

Havoc chewed meditatively on the end of the ever-present cigarette. “Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve never seen him smile quite that much as when you two talk about those radio things of his. And as for getting to know each other, that’s what dating’s for. Try asking him out to dinner or something.” Havoc grinned. “The worst he could say is no.”

Alphonse rolled his eyes. “Or dump a glass of ice water on me.” Havoc was not exactly the person he trusted romantic advice from.

“Ouch. And that was only after she said no six times.”

Alphonse thanked the heavens for an appropriate change in topic when he spotted a familiar series of cracks in a nearby wall. “Oh, I remember this now! You go down this alley, take a right and watch for the -”

The sound of an explosion rang out above the evening traffic and muted bustle of the busier streets. For a moment Alphonse had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, until he realized that the explosion hadn’t come from the Ishvalan camp ahead. Rather, it had come from behind them - from the direction of the hotel.

Then Alphonse felt sick for a different reason. He swiveled and craned his neck, watching the pillar of smoke rise into the air in the exact place he’d dreaded it would be.

Havoc gripped his shoulders and pulled him back. Alphonse hadn’t even realized that he’d begun to run. “Alphonse! We have our assignment.”

“But Brother - the Brigadier General -” Alphonse’s shoulders slumped. Havoc was right. The Ishvalan refugees still deserved protection, no matter what was happening back at the hotel.

Havoc eyed him speculatively. “Tell you what. You get me to the camp, and then you can run back and see what’s going on. I can handle things there.”

“Thanks,” Alphonse said gratefully, too worried to think about how Havoc would 'handle things' on his own with an impending attack. He started onward at a brisk pace. “This way.”


	5. Ishvalan Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are over and I'm mostly moved into my new place! This chapter gave me a ton of trouble. I changed the ending so many times - I have an entire scene written that might still end up in the fic in a different form. I've really been wanting to get to more shippy stuff (that's what inspired the fic in the first place, after all), but the mission plot really wasn't allowing for that and I wanted to get it to a better stopping point before switching focus. Anyway, POV change in the next chapter - Ed and Roy have been up to some things, so let's see what those things are. I think it might involve lunch together. *grins innocently*

The buildings and streets seemed to pass in a muted blur as Alphonse led Havoc toward the Ishvalan camp, tucked away at the edge of the town behind the seediest bars and empty houses where only squatters had lived for years. Edging himself through a broken fence, Alphonse stopped automatically for Havoc to follow, his eyes scanning for the dirty tan peak of a canvas tent that signaled their arrival. A line of bushes had grown into a dense thicket of wild, unkempt limbs in his absence, blocking whatever view he had expected of the camp. A well-trodden dirt path led into the foliage. Alphonse followed it, nodding in empty satisfaction when the camp appeared as expected on the other side.

Havoc tossed away his cigarette and ground it beneath the ball of his foot. “Not easy to get to, indeed. Is there another route they'd use?” Alphonse saw him eying the small, dirty river - or was it a large stream? - that flowed past the camp to their left and the dense undergrowth that edged it, which curved around and was lost to view behind the encampment. To the right, tents pitched in no particular pattern stretched to a dark line of trees, where the last rays of the evening sun illuminated the treetops. It was quieter and smaller than Alphonse remembered it; he supposed that Mile’s and Scar’s efforts under Fuhrer Grumman were paying off, and that the Ishvalans were slowly moving back to their homeland. At least, he hoped that was the cause of the quiet.

“It’s pretty difficult to get to from inside the city; the buildings are too close together,” Alphonse said, gesturing to the squalid district they’d left. “The alleys tend to be blocked, probably intentionally by the settlers here. It’s supposed to be a waste disposal area but nobody’s used it in years. The only other way is to come from the south.” He gestured toward the trees on their right, then looked uneasily back toward the city. A tall building with broken windows blocked his view of the sky in the direction of the hotel. “Unless they plan to cross the river, they’d have to come through the treeline. It’s a longer route, and noisier. A watch is usually kept there.”

Havoc nodded. “Well, I think I’ve got things here. You go on and check on the hotel.” His teeth gleamed white in the dusk as he grinned easily.

Alphonse couldn’t muster much of a returning smile, but he did at least have the presence of mind to say, “Thank you, Sir,” before he slipped away the way he’d come.

This time the streets passed in an even faster blur, as Alphonse settled into a steady jog as soon as he wound his way through the bushes and the fence. He slowed when he came to busier streets, but continued to walk quickly toward the hotel. His stomach kept rolling sickeningly, especially when he remembered that Mustang had said he was going back early. _He couldn’t… no…_

When the hotel finally came into view, Alphonse began to run again. Smoke poured from the building, a quarter of which was gone - particularly the second-floor section that had housed himself, his brother and the rest of Mustang’s party.

The military was already on the scene, mostly comprised of military doctors who were assisting the injured. Alphonse jogged toward the lines of stretchers, but was stopped by a uniformed officer with an impressive mustache.

“No civilians are allowed beyond this point,” he said stiffly.

Alphonse held up his hands. “I’m a guest at the hotel, and I’m looking for my brother -”

“Let him through,” a woman’s voice called. “That’s Alphonse Elric. He’s a highly qualified alchemist and as good as military by now.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Alphonse turned to see a familiar face. “Captain Catalina now, is it?” he said, smiling. He turned serious again at once. “Have you seen my brother anywhere? Or the Brigadier General?”

“I’m afraid not.” Rebecca Catalina nodded toward the groaning patients. “So far all we’ve found have been hotel workers, but it’s been rather delicate going. The fire’s not fully put out yet and we’re not sure if anyone’s trapped in there,” she said, pointing to the third floor.

“Allow me,” Alphonse said, striding forward. A few military men stepped forward as if to stop him, but stepped back, more likely from Catalina’s authoritative gesturing behind him than from his own determined expression. As he neared the building he clapped and crouched in a fluid motion, touching his palms to the ground as he made the necessary mental adjustments to complete the matrix. Blue streaks of energy crackled around him and leapt toward the building. Alphonse concentrated harder, focusing on the energy, using it to form and shape and build, only touching the chemical patterns resembling ash and walls and flooring and carpet, delicately shaping the reconstructed rooms around anything resembling a human body. Harder to deal with was the fire, but Alphonse was at least able to smother the larger pockets of higher energy in solid materials, effectively smothering most of the open flames. If only he knew something about Roy Mustang’s flame alchemy… he shook the thought away and focused harder, checking and rechecking before rising to his feet again.

While such a task would take most alchemists half a day - studying the chemical composition of the building, checking blueprints and architecture, drawing a complex transmutation circle - Alphonse had the advantage of array-less alchemy as well as having been taught by the very best. Additionally, ever since his trip to Xing he half-suspected that he’d developed a very slight subconscious ability to sense chi. Not anything he could utilize easily - not even close to the way that Ling and the palace guards used it with enough pinpoint accuracy to fight in the dark as easily as in the daylight. Still, it seemed easier when he was focused on something; and surrounded by the blue crackle of alchemy, Alphonse was never more focused. It at least helped him pinpoint the difference between the charred carbon of a former wooden floor and the warm, breathing, _living_ carbon-and-water cocktail of a human being.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, kid. Men! Get in there, there could be more injured!” Catalina leaned in, smiling. “Thanks. You just made our work a whole lot easier.”

Alphonse nodded, trying to remember exactly where he’d sensed people. He sighed. “I need to find my brother and Brigadier General Mustang. Thank you for letting me through.”

Catalina eyed him speculatively. “No problem. I can’t let you in, though. You _are_ a civilian and my men will finish a sweep of the building in no time. Sorry.”

Alphonse returned her stare, and then anxiously looked toward the building. Just because she couldn’t let him in didn’t mean she couldn’t turn a blind eye while he...

“And don’t even think of pretending to leave and sneaking in the back,” Catalina continued sternly. “You will stay right here until they’re finished, Mr. Elric.”

If he hadn’t been so damn worried he might have tried pouting, but he couldn’t muster much more than a frown. _Brother and Mustang can take care of themselves,_ he told himself. _They’ve gotten out of worse. They might not have even been in the hotel. Besides, Mustang can do array-less alchemy, too; he can control the fire, put up a barrier, get himself and Brother out of there. They’re fine. They’re fine. They’re -_

Alphonse was _not_ about to have a breakdown in front of everyone here. He made an effort to pull himself together. He stared fixedly at the door where the squad sent to sweep the premise had entered the hotel. Catalina watched him for a minute, then apparently decided it was safe to leave him. Alphonse considered making a run for it, but decided to wait. While he wasn’t particularly afraid of Catalina, he knew that she still talked to Hawkeye on occasion, and he was already abandoning his current assignment. It wouldn’t do to get into trouble with Hawkeye.

A few minutes later the squad straggled out, carrying a few injured guests and another hotel employee. None of them were Mustang or Edward.

“All clear,” one of the men called to Catalina. “Pretty good job fixing the place, too.”

Alphonse couldn't care less at the moment about the state of the hotel, but the fact that the squad hadn’t found any sign of his brother or Mustang whatsoever at least gave him reason to hope that Mustang and Edward had snuck off on some secret assignment. He at least had the presence of mind to thank Catalina for her assistance before he left.

He found her standing near the area cordoned off for the injured. “How bad are they?” he asked.

“Not too bad,” she said. “I’m not exactly a doctor myself, but I’m told that no life-threatening injuries have been reported.” She grinned. “Don’t worry too much, I’m sure the Brigadier General will turn up. He probably just snuck off to find himself a date or something.”

That sounded reasonable to Alphonse. “Silly of me to worry so much for nothing.” He smiled back. “Thank you for bearing with me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it looks like I should find a new hotel for the night. I’m sure that the workers here deserve a night off after this.” He looked at the building thoughtfully. “I wonder what caused the explosion? It’s the wrong place for a boiler meltdown.” Nothing like playing the ignorance card to get a bit of information.

Catalina frowned. “Not a clue, but you bet your ass I’ll be investigating it. Let me know if you hear anything. By the way, the Colonel wants to talk to you, if you’ll drop by Headquarters at some point.”

“Sure, I will. Thanks, Captain. Oh, and congratulations on the promotion!” He waved and strode off, headed in the direction of the hotel around the corner.

As soon as he was out of sight he turned down an alley and doubled back in the direction of the Ishvalan camp. He’d left Havoc long enough. Something definitely didn’t feel right. Wasn’t the attack supposed to hit the camp? Hadn’t Kurzmann planned to leave Mustang alone? There were too many unanswered questions. Maybe the Colonel was an idiot, but if he was attempting to confuse Alphonse he was definitely succeeding.

Heading back was slower going. The sky had grown completely dark, and as Alphonse left the main thoroughfares the working streetlamps slowly petered out. Soon the only light was a dim lamplight that spilled out of shady bars and dubious buildings that skimpily-dressed women stood in front of. A few tried to approach Alphonse, but he sped up when he saw them smiling tiredly at him, and soon he melted into the shadows of completely unlit alleyways.

Soon he was slipping through the bushes and into the Ishvalan encampment. Havoc looked up from where he sat half-hidden in the bushes, the tip of his cigarette smouldering brightly in the darkness. “Hey,” he said. “Everything’s been quiet here so far. Did you find them?”

Alphonse settled next to him. “No, I didn’t. There was an explosion at the hotel, though. Nobody saw Brother or the Brigadier General. Captain Catalina was in charge of the team sent to investigate.”

“Captain now, is she?” Havoc leaned back and laughed softly. “A fine woman. I should look her up if I get the chance. Anyway, don’t worry about those two - I’m sure they’ll turn up somewhere.”

“I hope so,” Alphonse said. He looked at the camp. “It’s really quiet. A little too quiet. And -”

He’d stopped talking because a pair of red eyes was staring at them solemnly. A small head crowned with a mop of white hair poked out from behind a nearby tent. When the watcher realized he was being watched, he crept out from behind the tent entirely - a small, ragged Ishvalan boy.

Alphonse waved. “Hi there.”

The boy looked at Havoc and him suspiciously. “You’re Amestrians. What are you doing here?”

Alphonse raised his hands. “We don’t want to cause any trouble. We just heard some bad rumors that we wanted to check out.”

“Rumors like what?” the boy asked, eyeing him.

Havoc responded. “Someone wants to cause trouble here, kid. We’re here to make sure they don’t.”

“You’re too late.” The boy folded his arms. “Someone already got the well two days ago.”

“Got the well?” Alphonse asked.

“Yeah. Like poisoned it or something. Everyone’s sick. My friend’s grandpa died. The healer’s sick, too. Nobody knows who it was. How did you know?”

Alphonse’s shoulders slumped. “We didn’t know they already got here. Are you sure nobody knows anything?”

“No,” the boy said. “One of the Elders' nephews went missing though. He was on watch that night.” The boy pointed to the treeline.

“And nobody’s been keeping watch here?” If someone was poisoning people, then surely they'd keep an eye on all sides of the camp.

“Who? They’re all sick. Who was it? Who made my mom sick?” The boy stepped closer.

“We’re trying to catch them,” Alphonse said gently. He got to his feet. “Somebody needs to tell the Major. We need a doctor -”

“We need a radio,” Havoc interrupted. “I’ll go report, you stay here.”

“Where are you going?” the boy asked.

“I’m going to try to find some help, kid.” Havoc disappeared, leaving Alphonse alone with the child. They stared at each other.

Eventually, Alphonse spoke. “I don’t suppose you’re going to invite me into the camp, are you?”

“No. Don’t trust you,” the boy said bluntly.

Alphonse sat on the ground again. It was slightly damp, thanks to the night air. Alphonse took a moment to breathe in the sweet, damp scent of the night air, clear his head, focus like he’d learned in Xing. He realized now that he was exhausted enough to fall asleep right there, small watching child or no. “I didn’t think so,” he responded.

The boy crouched as well. “Mom says Amestrians are bad. All except for Mister Roy Mustang, ‘cause he’s the one who sent Mister Miles to help us Ishvalans. She says we’ll be going home soon, when Dad gets back from working on our village.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Alphonse’s mouth. “Brigadier General Mustang is really nice. He’s helped my brother and I a lot.”

“He has? Have you met him?”

“Yeah.” Alphonse closed his eyes. “My brother and I work for him.”

“You’re military?” the boy asked, tone still suspicious.

“Not exactly, but my brother used to be.” Alphonse opened his eyes again and looked up at the sky filled with stars, more than shown in the sky in Central. “Now we’re just contractors working for Mustang.”

“Was that guy who was with you your brother?”

“No, he’s just someone else who works for Mustang.”

The boy stood, apparently finished with his cross-examination. “I’m gonna check on Mom. I still don’t trust you, but if you’re really working for Mustang maybe it’s okay. Don’t go anywhere or I’ll tell the Elders.” The boy backed away, watching Alphonse suspiciously, and whisked behind the nearest tent.

Alphonse almost dozed as he waited for Havoc or the boy to return. When he hear rustling in the bushes he turned to see Havoc, who smiled thinly.

“So, I'm afraid it's bad news," Havoc said without preamble. "The spare radio went up in smoke with the hotel, and finding a doctor is going to be tricky. Knox is in Central, and the Major’s not sure she trusts anyone else. Can’t alert the Colonel before we’ve got dirt on whoever he’s working with.”

Alphonse frowned. On one hand these people needed a doctor now; on the other, whatever had poisoned the well would likely have been diluted enough that whoever hadn’t died by now might still be able to hang on for another day. “Well, it seems to be quiet otherwise. I wonder if the attack was called off. Dr. Knox can get here by tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Havoc came to sit beside Alphonse. “The Major wants us to keep an eye on this place tonight, just to be safe. I’ll take the first watch, so get some sleep. It’s going to be a long night.” Havoc took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket.

Alphonse had yawned. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Havoc flicked the lighter, illuminating the area for a brief instant.

“Havoc? Al? What are you two doing here?” a familiar voice said.

“Brother?” Alphonse said as Edward emerged through the bushes. His hair looked like it had been half-dragged from its ponytail, and the bottom of his left pant leg and shoe appeared to be singed. More significantly, he was stooping under the weight of a human-sized, dark-haired burden wearing a military uniform. Roy Mustang. “Brother, what happened to you? Is the Brigadier General okay?”

Havoc seemed speechless and slack-jawed for once.

Edward frowned. “Long story, Al.” He shifted his weight, and Alphonse rushed to support Mustang, who hung limply unconscious over Edward’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you later. I need to get him to the healer here.”

“The healer’s sick. Everyone is. Somebody poisoned the well.”

Alphonse was glad he had a grip on Mustang. Edward swayed at the words, his face visibly turning paler despite the darkness. “That damned Colonel. He's been fucking things up here, too?”

“Looks like it. But Dr. Knox should get here from Central by tomorrow -”

“There might not be enough time.” Edward’s eyes were wide and staring. “He’s been poisoned and badly injured. He needs a doctor _now_.”


	6. The Trouble With Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed POV! Poor guy has issues. I had fun writing this, even if I did kinda hit him over the head with an angstbat. I probably had a little bit _too_ much fun writing the internal commentary.
> 
> I regret nothing.

**The Previous Morning**

_Edward couldn’t believe it. She was there, in front of him, as alive as ever, holding out her hand._

_Mom? he tried to say in a small voice, but he couldn’t push the words past his throat. It couldn’t be. Her loving gray eyes - Al’s eyes, in silver instead of gold - her smile that warmed Edward’s bones like no fire ever would, her slender arm outstretched. He wanted to step forward, to reach out himself, to take her hand._

_He was trapped in molasses, held back - she was growing smaller and further away - Mom, don’t leave! - it was bands of shadow that held him, not molasses, like the hands of the Gate of Truth or Pride’s shadows -_

_Then it was Ling who stood before him instead._

_“Hey, aren’t you treating me to lunch?” It was a busy, sunlit street in Rush Valley, but Edward still couldn’t move._

__Ling _, he tried to say, and it seemed as if the smiling, black-haired young man who stood before him heard the thought, since the moment he thought the name the face changed - hardened, eyelids slitting open to gleam violet._

_“Sorry, Kid, the name’s Greed.”_

_Greed -_

_“You sure were something, Kid. But sorry, I’ve got stuff to do.” He vanished with a wave, though Edward couldn’t quite see where he went. The street was now in Liore, quieter, and Hohenheim was walking past. He continued onward, obviously lost in whatever he was thinking about. Edward wanted to call out, wanted to tell him to wait, wanted to -_

_“Brother?” He was back in Resembool now. He turned with difficulty toward the voice._

_Al?_

_Alphonse smiled at him, their mother’s smile, warm golden eyes with just slightly more green swimming in their depths. “You got my body back, Brother, thank you.” Alphonse turned and started to walk away._

_With difficulty, Edward finally reached a hand toward him. “Al! Don’t leave!” His voice was rough, ragged, and far too quiet._

_Alphonse turned back to him, instead wearing same too-wide grin as Truth. “Oh? But isn’t this equivalent exchange? You left them first, you know. Too busy pursuing your dream. You left them, so your alchemy and your friends leave you. And then when you get your brother’s body back you run away to Creta.”_

_That smile superimposed on Alphonse’s face turned his stomach, but Edward was still held back by the shadows. “No, you monster. They left first-”_

_“But did they?” Faces whirled in front of him - Winry, Pinako, Mustang (eyes gray with blindness) -_

_“No!”_

_“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” the voice said. The figure in front of him morphed yet again, into the Creature that haunted most of his nightmares - the shape of the thing he and Al had created in their failed attempt at human transmutation. “If you leave first, they can’t leave you any more.”_

“NOOOO!” Edward shouted, bolting upright in the hotel room, panting.

The sunlight streamed in through dusty white curtains. A bird chirped outside the window, though the sound was nearly drowned out by the furious pounding on his door.

“What is it?” Edward called crossly after the knocking paused and he caught his breath.

“Edward, are you alright?” came Mustang’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Give me a minute and I’ll be right there.”

Edward was still dressed from the previous evening, since he hadn’t seen fit to retrieve a fresh change of clothes from his room before turning it over to Mustang. He also hadn’t bothered to remove his shirt or pants to avoid wrinkles. Frowning, he brushed at the worst of the creases before turning his attention to his hair.

 _Did Al really put it in a braid?_ he thought for the tenth time, as he combed it out with his fingers. It had been a while since he wore his hair in a braid. Much as he liked the style, as he’d gotten older he’d gotten tired of the way people looked at him when it was braided the way he’d liked as a kid. They stopped taking him seriously, treated him like he was just there to be pretty for them, like he did his hair for _them_ rather than because _he_ liked it that way. For a long time he’d thought it was because he was a kid, but once the features of his face sharpened into those of an adult and he’d gained a reasonable amount of height, he’d eventually realized that the reason had to be something else. When he’d described the feeling to a random young woman in Creta - drunkenly, over a pint of something way too strong that would have knocked over a man with a lesser metabolism - she’d said they were just “treating him like a girl”, which had only depressed him since he didn’t think girls should be treated that way either. The woman hadn’t seen anything particularly rude or unpleasant about it. That had depressed him even more.

He was pretty sure that Alphonse had just twisted the strands into the familiar pattern out of habit. Years of practice allowed him to pull the hair into a ponytail in the time it took him to walk to the door. He wrenched it open.

Even after so many years, Edward still was never quite prepared for when Mustang came into view. Oh, he could _think_ that he’d be fine, but something about the man always turned him into an awkward idiot. Unfortunately, he’d never quite figured out a response to awkwardness besides covering it with annoyance.

“What is it?” he snapped. “You need me already?”

Mustang didn’t look any happier than Edward felt. “Already? It’s eight in the morning. You will accompany me to the hotel dining room for breakfast.”

 _Get it together, Ed._ “Yes, Sir.” _That’s right, just keep saying that. Who knows, you might even manage not to fuck this up for a few hours if you keep your damn mouth shut._

Mustang seemed willing to not press the issue further as he headed to the stairs, obviously expecting Edward to follow. Edward did so without further argument. Keeping quiet was easier than usual; the emotions of the nightmare still clung to him like a faceful of spiderweb. Disgusting stuff, spiderweb. He’d encountered it a few too many times in his adventures.

By the time they reached the foot of the stairs, Edward had forced himself to tuck the nightmare into a corner of his mind for later review. He had more important things to worry about. Someone was after Mustang, and now was when Mustang’s state of being very much alive would be confirmed to everyone. And Edward would see them all damned before he let anyone harm a hair on Mustang’s head. Or anyone else’s, for that matter, but it was Mustang they were after, and they’d have to get through him first.

Still, protecting him meant he’d have to hang around the bastard all day. He glared at Mustang’s broad shoulders - _no Ed don’t think about his shoulders_ \- and nearly ran into them before he realized that Mustang had stopped.

Alphonse had apparently eaten already and was leaving the dining room. He and Mustang exchanged a few words of greeting, and then Mustang went ahead into the dining room.

Edward hung back for a minute, unsure why. “Looks like I’ll be busy today, Al,” he said unnecessarily. Obviously he’d be sticking to the Brigadier General all day like a fly to a steaming pile of shit. _Like an ant stuck in honey,_ an insidious part of his head corrected. He ignored it. “See you tonight.”

“Alright. Take care of yourself, Brother.”

Did Alphonse really need to tell him that? “Of course. Can’t protect anyone if I get hurt myself, right?” Not that Edward wasn’t prone to throwing himself into the line of fire to protect someone… or losing his temper and attacking at the wrong time… or… forget it. He hated worrying Alphonse, but he couldn’t blame his brother.

He could, however, push past his brother into the dining room to avoid the worry that showed clearly on Alphonse’s face. After this was all over he really needed to tell Alphonse everything. He’d come so close to spilling his guts the previous night. It was so strange to be hiding something from his brother, even if it was something dumb like this. _He won’t judge. He’ll just be happy you finally told him what’s bothering you._

Only, he knew, deep down, that he didn’t want to say anything at all. As soon as the words met the open air - as soon as there was someone besides himself who knew - then it would be a _thing_. Not something he could attribute to his imagination anymore. Something real, though still as dumb and hopeless as ever. As long as he didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it would go away.

_You know that won’t happen. You’d have been over him years ago._

_Shut up._

Edward was _really_ glad that nobody could listen in on his clamoring thoughts. It was bad enough that Alphonse was so attuned to him. If anyone could hear the way he argued with himself he’d have been stuffed in the loony bin ages ago.

He ignored Havoc’s greeting as he settled into a chair at the table with him and Fuery. He didn’t feel particularly social at the moment, but it was far too awkward to sit by himself - or with Mustang, who was watching the waiter with that unreadable expression that he used by default when his guard was up. Which was most of the time. Edward half-paid attention to the timbre of Mustang’s voice while he ordered (not a deep voice, per se, but with a rich quality to it that turned a simple request for an egg, a piece of toast and a slice of ham into almost a purr), and half-paid attention to his fingers clenching and unclenching nervously around the edge of the table. At least the scowl that seemed permanently affixed to his face these days warned Havoc and Fuery away from talking to him further.

The arrival of coffee, a stack of pancakes, three eggs, a tangled pile of bacon, several slices of ham and half a plate’s worth of potatoes was enough to bring him out of his moodiness a bit. Havoc and several of the waiters gawked, but Edward was eating too happily to care. He was sure by now that his metabolism could handle pretty much anything he threw at it; a good thing, since he’d never gotten out of the habit of eating everything in sight.

He managed to wolf it down by the time Mustang had daintily picked apart his meal, and Edward had gotten into a lively and loud argument with Havoc after the latter mentioned the growth-stunting properties of coffee. Even though Edward had even stopped immediately physically attacking people the moment they mentioned the word “short”, that didn’t give them the goddamn right to insinuate things about his perfectly adequate height. He was as tall as Mustang now, for god’s sake, not that it stopped the bastard from using it to provoke him anyway. Fuery had escaped soon after Havoc had made the comment, Mustang ignored the two, and the waiters looked torn between hiding in the kitchen and breaking up the fight.

Eventually, as Edward was leaning over the table to shake his fist a few inches from Havoc’s nose, Mustang interfered. “Havoc, please stop baiting my bodyguard. Edward, go make yourself presentable.” A pointed glance lingered over Edward’s badly rumpled collar, and Mustang held out the room key, letting it dangle from his fingertips.

Edward opened his mouth and closed it, remembering his earlier resolution. “Yes Sir,” he said, snatching the key. He barely resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Havoc as he passed. _If he’s fine with Havoc in the dining room, what did he need to wake me up for?_

He couldn’t bring himself to be fully annoyed with being dragged out of bed, despite the fact that he was perfectly confident that the bastard was just ordering him around because he could. Edward didn’t have the right to be annoyed. He’d chosen to work for Mustang again, knowing what he was getting into. Knowing that, despite what he’d said to Alphonse, he didn’t actually have a good reason for his choice. Knowing that the decision highlighted just how pathetic he really was. Broken. Unnecessary. Aimless.

He’d gone back to the last place he’d felt needed, even knowing that the feeling was a sham. He’d returned to the man who had protected him and his brother all those years, knowing that he was being used - a human weapon, a tool. He opened the door of Room 256 and let it shut behind him, massaging his temple with his right hand. He just… needed some sort of direction. Running away to Creta had helped, but in the end, despite the research he still clung to like a lifeline, he’d decided that being handed an arbitrary purpose by someone else was better than wandering about with none at all, and hell if he knew what he wanted now.

 _Except for the one thing,_ his mind whispered.

_Shut up. It’s impossible, and even if there was a snowball’s chance in hell, you wouldn’t deserve him._

_Focus_ , he told himself, trying to stop the swirling thoughts. He didn’t have time for this. Someone had tried to shoot Mustang, and someone would probably be trying to shoot Mustang again, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

And right now, he needed to stop moping and find a decent pair of pants.

\-------

By one in the afternoon, Edward was tired of this shit. And very hungry.

Wasn’t it Havoc and Fuery who were supposed to be conducting the inspection? Because being dragged around East City Headquarters sure made it feel like it was _Mustang_ conducting the inspection. It had been phrased as “a tour for nostalgia’s sake, it’s been so long - this used to be my post back when I was a Colonel -” but with the way Mustang took in everything with that infuriatingly lazy half-smile of his, Edward figured that this was as much part of the investigation as the actual digging through records and planting of audio devices. 

Speaking of which, he wanted to know when the fuck they were going to get to Colonel Ratface’s office or if it would even be before Mustang’s appointment with him at two in the afternoon, because after he’d changed that morning he’d found Fuery lurking in the hallway to hand him a little metal radio thing and a note. It looked like he was supposed to leave it somewhere in the aforementioned office without it being noticed. It had a little switch on the side that he was supposed to flip before he left it - to turn it on, he supposed. _Al would be better at this shit_ , he thought, before dismissing the thought. He was Edward Elric, former Fullmetal Alchemist, and he could be sneaky if he wanted to be.

Yeah. Necessary or not, that didn’t mean he wasn’t seriously good at his job.

This thought cheered him up for all of two seconds before his stomach reminded him insistently that he was starving. Mustang didn’t look so good either - kind of green around the gills, if you asked Edward. Probably from spending the morning being all _witty_ and _charming_ with every fucking soldier he’d recognized from years ago. Edward knew that the smarmy sweet-talking of potential supporters was a necessary part of politics, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Mustang was just lucky that Edward was on his best behavior, which meant that he was keeping quiet and _not_ rolling his eyes so hard they fell out of his face.

A few people had tried to talk to Edward, but Edward wasn’t in a sociable mood and had given the shortest answers possible while still remaining… _close_ to neutrally polite. He’d slipped a bit with the one woman who looked vaguely familiar who kept standing much too close and talking about how handsome he was now and how she’d always known he’d be stunning. Weirdly, Mustang had looked a bit annoyed by her, too. Probably just jealous that the woman wasn’t saying the same to _him_. Edward had blurted out that he was not being paid to flirt, and when she’d said something about catching up with him once he was finished working he’d declared that he didn’t have the slightest goddamn interest and would she please move her hand off his arm. The expression on Mustang’s face at that had been hilarious; mostly shock and a little bit of horror, but with some other emotion - was that satisfaction? - mixed in. The woman had apologized and hurried away, claiming to be late for something.

At present, Edward recognized Mustang’s best fake smile as he talked about the prices of apples in the local stores with a middle-aged female Warrant Officer. He recognized the tiredness behind the half-lidded eyes and the strain around the edges of Mustang’s face only through years of watching the man bullshit his way through countless conversations. Edward himself had fallen for it occasionally. He knew he shouldn’t interrupt, but Mustang needed a break and Edward was going to start eating the closest object if he didn’t get food soon.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” he said to the woman, then turned back to Mustang. “Don’t you have an appointment right now, Sir?” It took all his strength to keep the sarcasm out of the final word.

He almost regretting interrupting when Mustang turned his most charming smile on _himself_ , much more genuine than it had been while talking to the woman. Something like that shouldn’t be able to turn his goddamn knees to jelly. Especially not when one was automail. “Why of course, how could I possibly forget my lunch appointment. If you will excuse me, Miss.”

He offered a little half-bow as she blushingly murmured “please go ahead, sorry to keep you,” and then Edward was following Mustang down the hall again.

Mustang led them out of the headquarters and then slowed. Edward slowed as well, wondering if Mustang was even more tired than he looked. Mustang stopped, and looked at Edward impatiently. “You don’t have to walk so far back, you know.”

Edward shrugged and moved to walk beside him. 

They continued in silence while Mustang led them to a nearby restaurant. It had hamburgers, which was good enough for Edward. Mustang kept looking at him weirdly as he grabbed his sandwich and fries, plopped into an empty seat at one of the too-small tables and began inhaling his meal. Mustang took the seat across from him, eating more slowly and obviously stealing glances at Edward every few seconds.

Edward finally placed the expression as “wanting to say something but not sure how to start”. It was only difficult to recognize because this was _Mustang_ ; the man always had a word for every occasion. At least Edward could make it easier on him. “Whatever you want to say, just spit it out,” he said around a mouthful of hamburger.

Mustang hesitated, then took the invitation. “You’ve been... quiet. It’s unlike you.”

Edward swallowed. “You wanted me to keep control of my temper, right? And I said I could do my job. This is me doing my goddamn best not to blow a fuse or laugh my ass off when Captain Schmidt apologizes five times for breathing the same air as you.”

Mustang smiled. “Well, thank you for your efforts, Edward.” Edward was not a fucking teenager; he did _not_ feel a little shiver of happiness when Roy Mustang said his name. “But you don’t have to work quite so hard. I’m sure that East City remembers your… ah… _short_ temper well enough that -”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Edward growled.

“- as I was saying, I think most will find it far more anomalous to see you quiet than to see your… usual manner. While there are, of course, moments that require greater delicacy in handling, I hardly expect you to maintain perfect decorum for the entire stay here.” Mustang’s voice softened; Edward’s stomach flip-flopped. “I would hardly choose you to accompany me if I truly thought your temperament would endanger the mission.”

“Don’t fucking jerk me around, Mustang. You tell me you want me to ‘reign in my temper’, and then you tell me _not_ to? I don’t speak Smarmy Asshole, sorry.”

Mustang shook his head, looking defeated. That was another new expression. “Edward. I don’t want you to strain yourself, that’s all.”

Edward stuffed fries into his mouth and then spoke around them, knowing it was rude and not caring. “It’s called _doing my job_. You should try it sometime rather than flirting with every idiot female who decides to hang all over you.”

“Jealous?” Mustang asked, smirking.

 _Not the way you’re thinking_ , Edward thought. “Not fucking likely,” he said, glaring at the empty plate and contemplating the purchase of another hamburger. Mustang was still picking at his meal; he was barely halfway done with his own sandwich, and he hadn’t even started on his fries. Mustang, seeming to read his mind, picked up the box of fries and deposited them on Edward’s plate. “Don’t have to do that,” Edward said around the fry that immediately found its way into his mouth.

Mustang just smiled. It was a little unnerving. _Stop being nice to me. It makes me think that I have a chance._

“Seriously, you’re just lucky that Hawkeye babysits your ass. Nobody would take you seriously if she wasn’t keeping an eye out and making sure you look professional and stuff.”

“I am very lucky to have the Major’s loyal service,” Mustang replied. “As well as yours.”

If Edward wasn’t absolutely sure that it would be a cold day in hell before Mustang showed even a joking interest in him, he’d almost think that was flirting. As it was, he stared down at his plate to hide his face and mumbled, “Not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

“Edward.” Mustang waited until Edward finally, reluctantly, raised his head. Mustang was leaning forward, eyes warm and strangely unguarded. This did interesting things to Edward's heartbeat. “I’m serious. Whatever the reason for you agreeing to military contracting, I’m delighted to have you working for me.”

Edward leaned back. Whatever Mustang was up to, he had to know that Edward wasn’t going to... whatever he expected Edward to do. “Is that what you say to all your subordinates? No wonder they all think you’re a sop.”

“No. Only you.” Mustang looked amused. And a bit too bright-eyed.

Well. Edward wasn’t sure what to say to that.

An awkward silence fell as Mustang picked at his burger and Edward plowed through the remaining fries. No further words were spoken until Mustang stood and Edward followed him out the door of the restaurant toward Headquarters.


	7. A Visit With the Colonel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah, I haven't been updating as much as I would have liked. I've been in the middle of job search/starting a new job, and then a friend made the mistake of selling me her old 3DS and Fire Emblem Awakening for a ridiculously reasonable price, which kind of killed a lot of my free time. That, plus writer's block, made this a bit delayed. I think the next chapter should be a bit easier, at least.

At two in the afternoon precisely, Edward found himself following Mustang into Colonel Ratface’s office. Er, Kurzmann. He had to be careful not to use that nickname aloud; he had a feeling that the ratface wouldn’t be very amused and it would cause more trouble than it was really worth. After all, right now it would be best if Kurzmann ignored him. That would make it easiest for him to plant the transmitter somewhere.

His fingers wrapped around the tiny box in his pocket. Somehow, he kept his face mostly neutral when he followed Mustang into the office and made eye contact with the dickhead (‘bastard’ was too good a word for someone who collaborated with terrorists), though he did break the eye contact as soon as he could.

It galled him to see Mustang’s old office being used by this asshole. Looking around, it didn’t look particularly sinister; it was more underwhelming than anything. It hadn’t even changed all that much. It still had a giant desk piled high with paperwork, and a giant window behind the desk that allowed the goddamn sun to blind anyone who had the misfortune to be facing the aforementioned desk. Someone had replaced the old brown couches that Ed and Al had so often sat on with slightly newer green couches that looked almost the same. A coffee table, a bookcase full of books, a bulletin board - all these had an eerie air of familiarity despite the span of time that had elapsed since Edward had last flopped down unceremoniously in preparation for a lecture from Mustang. Only this time it wasn’t a giant suit of armor at his side, and nor was he the target of the person who sat behind the desk; rather, Mustang was on the same side of the desk as him, and was settling easily into the couch with an air of utter relaxation, leaning back and spreading his arms to rest on the back of the couch. Edward sat far straighter and more uneasily in the seat next to him, after a moment of hesitation. Unlike Mustang, he couldn’t quite bring himself to fake serenity; and besides, the new couch somehow seemed far more inhospitable, despite it being softer and more comfortably made than the previous lumpy furniture.

The additions of few houseplants comprised the other main changes that Edward could spot. A few bushes, a tiny tree in the corner of the office - Edward figured that the bush that had been set on a small table on his side of the couch was a good place to hide the transmitter. The leaves were incredibly dense and the few twigs that he could see amongst the thick leaves were almost the same color as the bronze of the device.

But first he needed Colonel Ratface’s eyes turned somewhere other than in the direction of himself and Mustang, and obviously that’s exactly where Kurzmann was planning to look. Especially since Mustang was currently speaking.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mustang was saying. “The plants are a nice touch.”

“Thank you,” Kurzmann said. “I do recommend a few plants in one’s office, if you haven’t tried it, Sir. I believe that they help reduce stress, as well as improve the overall mood of one’s subordinates.”

Edward saw the glance in his own direction at the final words, and gave his answer in the form of his best glare.

Mustang leaned towards Kurzmann - difficult, as he had to lean over the arm of the couch and twist his body until Edward only saw his back. “An intriguing suggestion. But I’m afraid that both I and my subordinates would be poor caretakers of plants. Surely you and your men are busy with administration affairs with the rebuilding of Ishval underway?”

Edward forced himself not to look at Kurzmann; close scrutiny at the moment would only serve to warn the man that Mustang’s many-layered game of carefully manipulative words and unspoken implications was underway. Much as he wanted to know Colonel Ratface’s reaction to being questioned about Ishval - _if this miserable dickwad is really funding those terrorist attacks and the sniper last night, so help me I’ll tear off his ass and make him eat it_ \- he knew that his role right now was to stay out of the conversation. Instead, Edward did what he usually did when forced into a covert operation and needing to act: he only half-listened to the conversation and settled into giving off a very real portrayal of boredom and irritation. If only his bodyguard job allowed for him pulling out his notebook so he could scribble arrays while he waited for Mustang to finish his conversation with this asshole.

He could still see from the corner of his eye that Kurzmann was still looking in the direction of him and Mustang. Too bad he’d been ordered by Mustang that morning to stay within a four-foot radius at all times while at the Headquarters. Otherwise, he might have opted to stand in a corner, out of the line of sight. He finally settled on tracing arrays with his finger on the arm of the couch to give him something to focus on, and _not_ spend the entire time glaring at Kurzmann or giving a thorough examination to Mustang’s carefully mussed hair and the graceful slope of his shoulders. _Stop thinking about staring at Mustang like a creep._

He tuned back into the conversation at the mention of his name. “Forgive me, Sir,” Colonel Ratface was saying, “but is it true that you and Mr. Elric are working with an Ishvalan who killed the parents of Mr. Elric’s childhood friend?”

Edward stiffened, but he kept his face focused carefully on the green fabric and the finger that had frozen in the middle of drawing a basic iron transmutation circle. Mustang’s voice hesitated, before it continued, and Edward felt the couch shifted as Mustang tensed slightly. “It is true that we are working with several Ishvalan citizens in effecting the restoration of Ishval. As for the claims that one of these is responsible for the… unfortunate tragedy of -”

“It’s none of your goddamn business,” Edward interrupted, finally turning to face Kurzmann. He could hear the subtle underlayer of tension in Mustang’s tone as he tried to bullshit an answer. Besides, it had been Colonel Ratface who had brought up a sore subject. Yeah, he still hated Scar with a passion and would sooner see him hang than go free, but… it was complicated. More complicated than this moron needed to know.

Kurzmann frowned and leaned forward. “Forgive me, Mr. Elric, I know it’s not my concern. I was just wondering why you would be so… accepting.”

Edward wavered. If the Colonel was working with terrorists then he probably wouldn’t listen to a word he said, but if he wasn’t then maybe he should try explaining what he could. “It’s none of my goddamn business either,” he said. “Whoever the government chooses to work with are not my problem. I’m a military contractor, not a military ethics committee.” That was more Mustang’s and Hawkeye’s area anyway. Stupid idealistic idiots, probably would get themselves killed one day if he didn’t watch out for them. “Unless they’re trying to hurt civilians I don’t plan to get involved in more than I’m assigned. And even if it _were_ true,” he said, holding Kurzmann’s stare, his own eyes narrowed, “it wouldn’t be my decision to send the bastard to the pit of hell where he belongs, much as I would fucking love to. It’s not my fucking _right_.” Winry had said she didn’t want revenge, and the government was willing to overlook his ‘criminal record’ thanks to his about-face and subsequent assistance in saving the lives of every Amestrian citizen. Additionally, Edward might never truly forgive Scar, but logically he knew that the man was no longer a danger. Hell, Edward had trusted him with _Winry_. Granted, the choice had been between him and Kimblee, but still.

Kurzmann looked a bit confused. Mustang hurried to speak in a wry tone before the conversation could progress further in its current direction. “Colonel Kurzmann, in the interests of reducing stress and improving the mood of subordinates, perhaps we should speak of other matters?”

“Most certainly,” Kurzmann said hastily. “Ah - have you found everything to your satisfaction so far?”

“Absolutely. It’s certainly pleasant to see so many familiar faces after my years of absence.” Mustang smiled and Edward could feel the couch shift as he relaxed. Edward himself turned pointedly away, poking at the bush idly instead of at the arm of the couch.

“Splendid, splendid! Ah, that reminds me - perhaps you would like a chance to spend time with your friends here in East City in a more relaxed setting? Perhaps a military ball, to celebrate your visit?

“A ball is much too grand for so simple a thing,” Mustang replied. Edward glanced back, trying to keep the suspicion out of his face; Mustang never turned down a chance to attempt to charm political supporters. Kurzmann nodded, looking downcast, and then started digging idly through a drawer in his desk as if to find an excuse to avert his eyes.

This was Edward’s chance. He slipped the transmitter from his pocket as Kurzmann continued talking, eyes still trained on the drawer and papers rustling. “Well, then I must insist on at least a dinner. So many here remember you fondly and would love the chance to welcome you back to East City, despite the temporary nature of your visit. And Mr. Elric as well; I know of a number of soldiers who are delighted to see you again.”

Edward really couldn’t care less about who was delighted to see whom. He flipped the switch and slipped the transmitter into the bush. It nestled neatly into the branches, entirely out of sight once the leaves closed around it. It was just in time as Kurzmann straightened and tapped a stack of papers against the desk. Edward resumed poking at the bush with one finger.

“I would be honored, and I thank you for your generosity,” Mustang replied. “However, I am not sure how long I can be away from Central, and there is no need to go to so much trouble in case I am called away.” Now that the conversation was turned away from volatile topics and Edward’s secondary task was finished, he relaxed slightly. Not that he could fully relax when in the same room with Kurzmann.

“Forgive me if I overstep my position, Sir, but you work too hard! Everyone knows the name of Brigadier General Mustang. Surely you of all people should be allowed to attend one modest dinner with your old comrades-in-arms of East City,” Kurzmann said.

“Perhaps it is because I work so hard that Central can not be without me for long,” Mustang responded, and Edward had to work _really_ hard to avoid laughing. Yeah, ‘work’. Flirt with random women on the phone all day when Hawkeye wasn’t around to keep him in line, more accurately. Edward wasn’t sure why he spent so much time chasing everything in skirts when the man had _Riza Hawkeye_. Edward himself might have been broken enough not to be particularly interested, but even he could admit that she was stunning, objectively speaking, as well as actually smart and absolutely kickass. Not that it would sting any less to see Mustang officially together with Hawkeye; but maybe if Mustang was _taken_ then Edward could finally just _get over it_. They were obviously crazy about each other already, and Riza was at least _female_ and _Mustang’s age_ and _awesome_ and _gorgeous_ and _his best friend_ and _not a fucking social liability_ -

“... My wife has long desired to meet you,” Kurzmann was saying when Edward tore his thoughts away from an unpleasant direction.

“If it please you,” Mustang said. “And now, I’m afraid I should retire to my hotel. I must confess that I am slightly under the weather, and it would be a shame to miss the opportunity to meet your lovely wife.” Wait, what? Edward knew that Mustang had looked tired, but to actually admit it… he couldn’t resist examining the sharp features, the lidded eyes, the clear skin that seemed lighter by contrast with the soft black hair that perfectly framed his face. Was Edward imagining it, or was he even paler than usual? Mustang stood, and Edward did as well, turning to head toward the door.

“Ah, yes, by all means. Mr. Elric, I trust that you will accompany him tomorrow?”

“If those are my orders. I’m just a military contractor,” Edward said shortly, not bothering to turn around.

“Just a military contractor? _You?_ The Fullme-”

How many times did he have to repeat it before Kurzmann got the point? Edward turned to glare at Kurzmann, past a slightly impatient-looking (and overly pale) Mustang. “Yes. And right now my contract isn’t to keep the Brigadier General waiting.”

“Many apologies, Sir.” Kurzmann looked properly apologetic. Edward held the door for Mustang to leave the office.

\-------

Thankfully, they headed straight back to the hotel after escaping from Headquarters. Mustang was far too quiet for the entire trip, swaying and occasionally holding his stomach when he seemed to think Edward wasn’t looking. As soon as the door of Room 256 shut behind them, Edward put his hand against Mustang’s forehead.

“Edward, what -”

“You don’t have a fever, anyway,” Edward said, pulling his hand away as if he’d been zapped. “How do you feel?”

Mustang swayed and went to sit on the bed. “I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit.”

Edward eyed him narrowly. “Bullshit. You’re not acting ‘fine’. Somebody’s trying to get you out of the way, and this is a little too convenient for my comfort.”

“If you insist.” Mustang frowned. “I do feel mildly ill. I have no doubt it will pass soon, so…”

Edward wished Alphonse was here. Alphonse at least had some medical training from his stint in Xing learning alkahestry; maybe he’d be able to figure out something. “Hey, can you avoid dying for a few minutes while I go check on something?”

Mustang smiled. “I’m sure I can manage that.”

Alphonse, unfortunately, wasn’t in his room. Edward barely hesitated before rifling through his suitcase for any books that might be of use. He took a few moments to flip through the little bound notebook that held his brother’s research, encrypted in the form of notes on the care and treatment on various types of animals. Apparently his brother hadn’t brought any other books; understandable, but frustrating.

Returning to the room Mustang was in, Edward found him laying in the bed with a trash bucket beside it. Edward avoided looking in the bucket after the first glance, which revealed the contents to apparently be the remains of Mustang’s earlier meal. “You must be really sick,” he said.

Mustang looked up tiredly. “Why on earth would you think that?” he snipped, then winced.

Edward sighed. “Okay… okay. What doctors do you trust here in East City?”

“Edward, how long do you think it’s been since I’ve been here? Doctor Knox might know someone, but -”

“Well isn’t that fucking great. Who would go on a dangerous mission without… never mind.” Edward realized that continuing that train of thought would end up incriminating himself as well - it wasn't like Edward had ever tracked down a doctor when he was planning something risky. “Tell me your symptoms and his number. I’ll go use the hotel’s phone to call him.”

Mustang struggled to smile. “No need. Fuery arranged communications last night.” He pointed to a box at the foot of the bed.

Edward opened it, finding some weird, bulky combination of phone and radio. He lifted it out and stomped over to deposit it on the table next to the bed. “Do you want to call him, or would you rather I do it?”

“There’s really no need -”

“Yeah, and when Hawkeye comes back to find you stuck in bed she’ll definitely agree that there was no need to worry about you. Can you honestly tell me that you know what sort of bug you’ve got?”

Mustang hesitated. “No.”

“Then humor me.”

Mustang reluctantly dialed, and Edward entertained himself by listening to Mustang’s side of the conversation.

“Hello, may I speak to Dr. Knox, please. Yes, I can hold, that’s fine.” A long pause. “Hey, Doctor, how are things? … Yes, yes, I know you’re busy, sorry to bother you. But - well, ah, I’m in East City, and there’s been a bit of trouble, and… no, seriously, it’s no big deal if -”

Edward snatched the phone, despite Mustang’s weak glares before the bastard winced and dropped back into the bed. “Mustang’s sick and I don’t know what’s going on because I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“Well, Edward, what a surprise,” Dr. Knox’s acidic voice came through the line. “He sounds like himself to me, but since I’m not there -”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I was thinking you might know some doctors in the area who we can trust, if you catch my drift, or maybe he could actually tell you his symptoms rather than beating around the bush.” Edward eyed Mustang threateningly.

Mustang responded by smirking.

Edward wanted to throw the phone at his face.

“Hmm, I’m not exactly familiar with East City. I’ll tell you what, I can get back to you in a few hours - but I should probably hear the symptoms just to be safe,” Knox said thoughtfully. “Of course he’d get sick the moment he got away from where I could tell him he’s a goddamn fool about his health.”

Edward needed to spend more time with Dr. Knox; he liked the way the man thought. “He’s already puked, and he keeps grabbing his stomach and wincing when he thinks I’m not going to notice,” he said, delighting in the way that description made Mustang wince even more. “No fever. He’s swaying around when he walks a bit, and he actually went to bed in the middle of the day.”

“Can you check his pulse?” Knox asked. “Tell me how many heartbeats are in twenty seconds.”

Edward looked away from the phone. “Give me your hand,” he said to Mustang, who confusedly held out his arm. Edward grabbed for his wrist and felt for a pulse, muttering profanity under his breath when he had to feel around to find it. When he did, it was relatively weak and slower than he thought it should be. Mustang looked confused, and Edward tried to ignore the fact that he was effectively holding Mustang’s hand. “Fifteen,” he said into the phone receiver.”

“Shit,” Knox said. “Could be a lot of things, but… did you make him call because you were worried about poison?” Knox’s voice was hushed.

“Yes,” Edward said, tensing. “I take it that I should be worried?”

“Maybe. As I said, it could be a lot of things, but... Let me get back to you on a doctor. I’m not sure when, though. Try to find one yourself if you can.”

“Will do,” Edward said shortly. “Thanks, Doc.”

Knox hung up, and Edward put down the phone. Mustang had closed his eyes. He looked tired; in the back of Edward’s mind he noted that it was rare to see Mustang with his guard down this much. He lay so still that after a moment he poked at Mustang’s arm with his finger. Mustang twitched slightly and murmured without opening his eyes; Edward realized that he was asleep.

Well. “What am I going to do with you?” Edward mumbled, turning to look out the window. Nobody had told him how to reach Hawkeye or the others. He supposed that they’d all assumed that Mustang would be able to deal with his team himself, and of course everyone would be coming back to the hotel later. All the same, it would be nice if he could at least leave the bastard in the trustworthy hands of his brother and go do some investigating on his own to find a decent doctor. He couldn’t just leave the idiot here asleep; the fact that Mustang was incapacitated was all the more reason to expect an attack.

For the moment, he was stuck sitting here with Mustang, shifting uncomfortably until he decided to dig through his nearby suitcase for his notebook and a pen and settle into the particularly pathetic armchair. This occupied him for a while, though he kept glancing up every time Mustang shifted in his sleep. After about half an hour, Mustang awoke long enough to stumble to the bathroom, barely glancing at Edward and falling asleep almost as soon as he returned. If Edward didn’t know better he’d have thought that Mustang was embarrassed.

The time between Mustang’s short waking moments grew longer as the afternoon wore on, and Edward abandoned his alchemical notes to pace worriedly around halfway through and force a cup of water into his hand every time he awoke. Where was Alphonse? _Elric brother telepathy activate_ , he thought to himself wryly.

At around half past five, Mustang hadn’t woken up for an hour and a half and Edward was seriously considering waking him up to call Dr. Knox again. That was when he smelled the gunpowder.

Edward swiveled his head toward the door and listened closely. Somewhere outside, he heard footsteps swiftly running away from the door. He jerked it open.

Right outside the door sat a small, ticking device. Edward immediately identified it as the source of the smell. A bomb.

 _Damn them. Damn them all to hell._ A cursory glance told him that it was a type he knew nothing about diffusing… besides transmuting the gunpowder into incombustible components, or simply crushing the damn thing by brute force. Which also required alchemy. Which, funnily enough, he _still didn't have_.

“Edward?” he heard Mustang say uncertainly - weakly, far too weakly - from directly behind him.

“A bomb,” Edward said, talking as fast as he could. “Either you need to transmute it or we need to -”

A hand on his arm jerked him away from the door, and a body landed on him as white light filled his vision. The floor gave way beneath him, and his ears rang with the sound of the explosion.


	8. Edward Elric and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I have to try to write halfway realistic medical stuff. Seriously, I apologize to everyone out there who actually knows anything about wounds and how they should be treated. On a related note, if you are majorly grossed out by reading about wounds and their treatments, you might not enjoy this chapter very much, though I tried not to write anything too graphic.
> 
> Also, I'm bringing in a character who had a minor cameo in the series, not making a brand-new one with Falman's codename. But don't be worried if you don't recognize her; she's barely mentioned.
> 
> I feel like I should put a warning on this for Edward's language too...a little late now though.

Edward had been in plenty of tight spots. He’d even been through some explosions. He’d argue till the ends of the earth that none of them - okay, only a couple of them - were his fault, but they did seem to follow him around.

None of that changed the fact that he never quite got used to the shock, the ringing in his ears, the way the entire world flipped sickeningly around him. Added to that was the weight pressing his body down uncomfortably against broken floorboards that kept shifting every time Edward tried to move. A weight that he was 99% sure had to be Mustang, the stupid, noble fucking _bastard_. Edward could already see the scene later, as long as the moron survived (which he would, because Edward refused to consider any other option): he was going to yell, and Mustang would roll his eyes and make rude comments about Edward’s ability to judge him with a side of thinly-veiled references to his height, and Edward would end up yelling for entirely different reasons.

But first he had to get up and find a way out of the building with Mustang in tow.

After a minute, as Edward’s eyes started to adjust to the darkness after the near-blinding light, a more pressing matter came to his attention heralded by the smell of smoke. Flickering lights told Edward that a fire had sprang up nearby, not that surprising because, y’know, _a fucking bomb just exploded_. Edward dimly wondered how he and Mustang hadn’t gone up in smoke immediately as he pushed at the shoulder that half-covered his face. “Hey, are you awake?”

A low groan caused a little of the tension in the pit of Edward’s stomach to ease; at least Mustang was alive and conscious. This was followed by weak stirring, and then the body slumped against him. Why did Mustang have to be so damn heavy? And far too close. He could feel the body heat and smell something over the smoke that was a bit of cologne and a bit of stale hotel dust and mostly just Mustang, and in any other circumstances Edward would be doing his damndest to get as far away as possible before he did or said something stupid. As it was...

“Come on. We need to get out of here,” Edward urged, pushing harder. “Is anything broken? Can you stand up?”

A pause, and then the pressure eased away from his chest to concentrate over his legs as the shoulder blocking his view moved away. Edward took a breath of the smoky air and coughed. Mustang frowned from where he had half-sat up and paused to clap weakly before he continued to move himself gingerly off of Edward. The smell cleared, which gave Edward a clue about why they hadn’t been set on fire themselves despite being approximately at ground zero for the blast. _Right. Flame alchemist._ As soon as Mustang had shifted fully, Edward himself sat up to look around.

The floor beneath them looked remarkably unstable - big surprise there - and parts of it appeared to be missing. If Edward had to guess he’d say that it had collapsed halfway to the first floor. At least that didn’t give them far to fall. Looking upward, he noticed the remains of some sort of hasty transmutation amidst the flames that licked at splintered wood, which explained where parts of the floor went as well as why he and Mustang were in one piece. Or mostly one piece, he thought wryly as he flexed the automail leg and watched it bend normally. He had all his usual pieces. And Mustang -

Mustang looked rather the worse for wear, his uniform torn in several places, and appeared to be wincingly examining a slowly growing dark patch with a tinge of rust at his side. Any of Edward’s tension that had eased previously immediately returned tenfold. But first… “Mustang.”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t answer my question. Can you stand?” Edward tentatively shifted his weight until he found a way to roll to his feet gently that didn’t involve the boards lurching unsettlingly.

A flicker of uncertainty flew over Mustang’s face, and Edward sighed. He put an arm around the man’s shoulders and pulled. Mustang froze for a moment, and Edward wondered if he’d accidentally hurt him; but a moment later Mustang was heavily resting his own hand on Edward’s shoulder for leverage as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Good,” Edward said. “I need you to alchemize us a way ou…. wait. No. They might be waiting outside.” He thought for a moment. “Here. This way.”

Holding on to Mustang, who continued to lean heavily on Edward as he shuffled his feet slowly, Edward pulled him through the wreckage and farther into the hotel. “Edward?” Mustang said uncertainly.

Edward concentrated hard on finding a stable route that would hold both of them that didn’t take them directly into the path of the uncomfortably close flames. This kept him from looking in Mustang’s direction; from the fact that he could feel Mustang's breath puffing warmly against his neck, this was probably a good thing. “They’ll figure out soon enough that we survived. But if we can sneak out without them seeing, maybe they won’t be able to follow us.” He’d finally found a stretch of mostly-stable flooring, but a large beam blocked their way. “Here. Hold on to the wall for a moment.”

Mustang sagged wearily against the wall, and Edward gauged the force he needed to move the beam as he sidled forward a few steps. Raising his automail leg, he brought it heavily against the wood.

The good news was that the beam crashed to the floor. The bad news was that part of the ceiling came with it, along with some flaming wallpaper that landed on Edward’s shoe and sent sparks scattering along his pant leg. He kicked it away, looking around for something to put out the smouldering embers searing holes in the brown fabric. At least they had only struck his automail leg. Despite Edward’s gratitude at regaining at least one of his lost limbs, he had to privately admit that being made partly out of metal had its advantages.

A clap sounded behind him, and the glowing embers disappeared. Edward looked back at Mustang. “Save your strength,” he said crossly. “I can handle this.”

“Of course you can,” Mustang murmured, trying to shove himself away from the wall. Edward moved toward him, but too slowly; Mustang had already clapped and placed his hands against the wall. The section of the hotel trembled as it reshaped itself amidst crackles of blue lightning; flames disappeared and a clear path materialized through the wreckage, leading to a neat human-sized hole that led to a dark alleyway beyond. Edward felt a flash of annoyance that he wanted to attribute to the danger of one of Kurzmann’s goons seeing the glow of the alchemy, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny that the bulk of it was because he hadn’t been able to do the same thing himself. _Useless._

“Good,” was all he said. “Now let’s get you out of here.”

Mustang looked like he wanted to say something as he draped his arm over Edward’s shoulders again and shifted what felt like a major percentage of his weight onto them. Edward gave him no chance to speak as he wrapped his own arm around Mustang’s upper back and hauled him toward fresh air and safety.

\-------

Edward knew nothing about finding a trustworthy doctor in a city he hadn’t seen for ages. After traveling with Greed, however, he knew everything about finding an abandoned house and parking himself in it for the night. Unfortunately, finding an abandoned house involved reaching the edge of town, and from the way Mustang kept tripping on nothing as Edward half-carried him through the narrowest alleyways and darkest spaces between buildings, he wasn’t entirely sure that was possible. As soon as Edward was mostly sure they hadn’t been followed, he lowered Mustang to the ground behind a pile of empty crates to insist that Mustang let him look at the wound in his side. He was particularly worried when Mustang allowed him to do so with very little protest.

Edward wished he had a knife to slice away the torn shirt from around the wound, but at least the cause of it was obvious. A large piece of wood had lodged itself in the ugly mess of torn skin and dried blood, with the smallest trickle of fresh dampness oozing from the edges with every ragged, shallow breath. Edward knew enough about wounds (mostly from experience) to leave the shrapnel in the wound until they had a way to close it; massive amounts of blood were liable to escape as soon as they pulled it out. His fingers twitched toward the scar at his own side. He didn’t particularly want Mustang to pull the same trick he had so many years ago after his fight with Kimblee, though if it was necessary…

No. It wouldn’t come to that. They would find a doctor, and Mustang would be okay. After all, the bastard was still awake and staring weirdly at Edward as he tried to prod the edges of the shirt not stuck to the wound gently aside to get a clearer view of the damage. Something was strange about the skin around Mustang’s wound - it was darker from some sort of prior damage.

“Old injury,” Mustang murmured, apparently reading his mind. _He’d better fucking not be able to read minds._

“Right,” Edward said, making a mental note to ask him about it later. “There’s not much I can do here. We need to get you somewhere safe.” Preferably somewhere with medical supplies. And a doctor. But at the moment “safe” was the most he could realistically settle for.

Mustang looked like he was about to argue - as if there was anything to argue with - when a feminine voice floated down the alleyway. “Roy? Is that you?”

 _Shit_. Edward really thought they hadn’t been followed. He sprang to his feet and fell into a guarded stance. He didn’t relax when a blonde-haired woman stepped around the corner of a building, her face still shadowed but a slight smirk twisting full, unnaturally pink lips. He shifted to place himself between the stranger and Mustang.

“Vanessa?” Mustang said from behind him, not sounding particularly threatened.

“Relax, kid,” the woman said to Edward, who refused to drop his guard. She stopped several feet away from them. “I’m here to help. Roy, is this little guard dog the one you keep telling us about when you actually bother to visit? You never mentioned just how _adorable_ he is.”

“I’m not _little_ ,” Edward snarled. “Or _adorable_. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, so he never told you about us? Madame will be so heartbroken that you didn’t even bother to mention -”

“Edward, stand down, I’ll explain who she is later. Vanessa, why are you in East City, and do you have a safe house?” Mustang asked tiredly.

“And a doctor,” Edward decided to throw in, not bothering to move from his protective position.

Vanessa frowned in thought. “I’ve got a place, I’m not sure how secure it is, though. I’m not sure about a doctor, but I do have some medical supplies, at least. Madame thought you’d get yourself in trouble on this one. She told me to tell you that you should visit more often.”

“Guilt me later when I’m not dying,” Mustang said.

“Oh, I will. You’re Ed, right? I can’t hold him up myself, so if you’d be so kind…”

Edward snorted. “Sure I can. I got him here, after all.” He finally turned around to where Mustang was slumped against the mud-splattered building wall. “Can you - never mind.” Mustang’s eyes were closed, and he looked close to passing out. “Here.” Edward stooped to tug the uniform coat over the wound, then place his shoulders under Mustang’s arm and lift. Mustang slumped against him, his head falling against Edward’s neck, hair tickling the corner of Edward’s jaw. “Shit. I think he’s, uh…”

“Can you move him?” Vanessa asked.

“Yeah, but I hope wherever we’re going is close by.”

“It’s not too far from here. Come along.”

Edward hesitated when they reached a busier street where a few people were enjoying a walk in the cool of the evening or browsing the few shops still open for another hour. However, as he dragged the heavy sack of blue uniform that was Mustang out into the open, Vanessa moved to walk a few paces ahead of them. It was only when Edward realized that no glances were being spared for himself and his burden that he noticed the woman’s dress - a clingy off-the-shoulder purple thing that ended just above her knees, showing off slender legs and feet clad in a pair of strappy heels.

He’d long ago given up pretending that skimpily-dressed women did anything for him. He kinda wished they did, because maybe it would distract him from the sheer idiotic _annoyance_. Idiotic on his part, anyway. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. Of course Mustang would have _relationships_ and shit with people Edward didn’t know. It was ridiculously petty to be frustrated that Mustang was on first-name terms with yet another stunningly gorgeous woman who turned every head on the goddamn street. Except, of course, Edward’s, because he couldn’t even react like a normal, non-fucked-up human being.

Vanessa led them into another alley, but this time she turned into a side door behind a flower shop. Edward had to pause and shift Mustang to a better position when he was greeted with a flight of stairs. Upon reaching the top he was greeted by a tidy, lamplit room with a set of drawers, a comfortable-looking chair and a particularly large bed. Vanessa motioned for him to wait when Edward started to set Mustang on the latter.

“The bed isn’t mine, so I can’t have him bleeding on it.” She opened a door that apparently led to a closet and dragged a mass of blankets out of it, then laid them on the floor. “Once we patch him up you can move him. Do you know anything about injuries?”

Edward lowered an unconscious Mustang onto the blankets and brushed the hair away from his eyes. “Not sure. I might be able to manage something. Got supplies?” The last time he’d had to patch up a major wound himself, it had been on _himself_ , and he’d still had his alchemy. On the other hand, Edward knew plenty about biology, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been on the receiving end of medical treatment on occasion.

“I have a few. Try to keep him alive, anyway. Heads will roll if something happens to him.”

Edward glared at Vanessa suspiciously as she rummaged through the closet. “Is that a fucking threat?”

She sighed, pulling a bag out of the closet and inspecting its contents. “That’s not what I meant. Unless you’re working for the people who caused that explosion. From the way _he_ talks about you, though, _your_ head is safe enough.” She nodded toward Mustang.

“Safe from _who_?” Not Hawkeye, at least, because Edward could only imagine the agony she’d put him through already when she found out about Mustang’s condition. Despite his wariness, he took the black bag that Vanessa handed to him and began rummaging through the medical supplies within.

“If he hasn’t told you already…” she said thoughtfully. “Well, it’s not like I can’t tell you a few things, I suppose. I work for his mother. She runs a… bar, of sorts.” Edward wasn’t entirely sure what the pause meant, but something about her tone made him decide not to ask. “In our business we tend to gather information, among other things. But I wouldn’t like to be the one on the receiving end of Madame’s wrath if something seriously happens to him.”

Sometimes Edward wondered if the reason he wasn’t interested in women was because most of the ones he knew were fucking terrifying. That still didn’t explain why he wasn’t interested in men apart from Mustang. He scrambled for a response to her explanation as he neatly laid a piece of gauze on the blanket alongside Mustang’s head and methodically arranged disinfectant, a needle, a spool of thread and a pair of scissors on it - or at least a response that didn’t give away just how much he was dying to know everything about this mother who he’d never heard of. Somehow, it was weird to think about Mustang even having a family - as if he’d been a kid once, and had a mother and father and had to learn shit in school, and hadn’t just appeared one day in a blue military coat behind a desk somewhere and started being a smarmy manipulative bastard. Of course, the response Edward’s head came up with was the lamest possible. “So you’re, what, a bartender?”

Vanessa smiled slowly, then winked. “I offer a fantastic Screaming Orgasm.”

Edward _really_ didn’t need to hear that. While he knew that she was referring to a drink, he was still pretty sure that his cheeks were about to spontaneously combust and to hell with the science that said they couldn’t. Apparently that had been Vanessa’s intention, because she’d burst into gales of laughter. He was glad that he was currently in the process of trying to divide his attention between rolling up his sleeves and not dying of embarrassment. Otherwise she might have found her perfectly good bag of medical supplies en route to her face, Edward’s maturity and the fact that she was helping him and Mustang be damned.

“Your face,” she gasped. “No wonder he’s been keeping you away from us, Ed. He’s going to _pay_ for that on his next visit, by the way. I’ll go get you some water and towels.” She whisked out another door.

“...Thanks,” Edward mumbled to the empty room. He started cutting away the formerly white shirt from around the wound, doing his best not to tug on the injured skin stuck to the fabric. If only Alphonse was here - if only Alphonse was the one assigned to guard Mustang, then there would be absolutely no problem with mending the torn skin or separating cotton fibers from human tissue. Alphonse would even be able to salvage the shirt. Alphonse wouldn’t have let things get this far in the first place - the bomb wouldn’t have gone off, and there wouldn’t have been any injuries that were Edward’s _stupid fucking fault_ because he hadn’t been able to prevent the _goddamn idiot bastard_ from trying to play the fucking hero. In fact, even without Alphonse there, Mustang shouldn’t have been injured. It should have been _Edward_ with another gaping hole in his side. He should have been quicker, he should have -

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Vanessa’s voice intruded on his self-incrimination at the same time a pile of threadbare but neatly folded towels under a large bowl of water intruded on his field of vision.

“Not like I have a choice,” Edward said, taking the towels and bowl from her. “Unless you’ve got a doctor handy. But he’s not fucking dying until I get a chance to yell at him for being an absolute heroic moron.”

She didn’t respond while he added disinfectant to the water and dipped a towel in it, then started gently dabbing at the wound. Finally, she said in a weird tone, “Somehow I think he’ll pull through.”

“Of course he will,” Edward said, pressing a piece of gauze against the bleeding that had restarted under his ministrations with the towel. He needed to distract himself from the worry, so he latched onto another subject. “Why do you keep calling me Ed? I mean, _he_ doesn’t exactly call me that.”

“He does when he’s drunk. Really, really drunk.”

Edward snorted. “I’m surprised that he sticks to just _Ed_ , in that case. That’s seriously the best he can come up with? Don’t answer that.” He didn’t really need to hear Mustang’s drunken complaints about himself; he’d heard the sober ones to his face enough already. One more piece of shirt was stuck to skin, and after that it was time to tackle a bigger, shrapnel-shaped problem. Even more worrisome was the cold clamminess of Mustang’s skin, which might have been just as influenced by whatever was in Mustang’s system before the injury as the wound itself. He dipped another towel in the bowl of water and wrung it out, placing it over his lap.

“If you insist. You should make him bring you along some time. Um... do you need any help?” Vanessa asked when Edward leaned back and scowled at the supplies laid out..

Edward handed her a ball of gauze. “When I pull that out, I need this pressing against it immediately.”

He glanced up at her. Her eyebrows were lowered in concentration, and she looked far more tense than her voice had betrayed. Edward supposed he hadn’t really been looking at her so much, but he hadn’t noticed the concern until now. “I’m ready,” she said, smiling at him reassuringly, but now that he’d seen it he could spot the worry in her eyes.

He turned back to the wound and grasped the piece of wood. “Alright, here goes. Three, two one…” He yanked as hard as he could. The shrapnel resisted for a moment before he felt the tissue around it giving way, and he dropped it on the ruined pieces of shirt that he’d laid aside earlier. Vanessa already had the gauze pressing against the wound. It was turning dark red with a frightening speed.

“Shit. Alright. Keep that there.” Edward held out the towel. “Hold that with one hand and get rid of any blood where I’m working with this.” He picked up the needle and thread.

From there it was the delicate work of gently tugging the broken skin into some semblance of wholeness and keeping it there with needle and thread. Edward was grateful that Vanessa didn’t attempt to start any further conversation; he needed all his concentration to keep his mind clear and his hands steady. He’d seen this done enough times to know how it worked, but it was fucking difficult, and Mustang was definitely going to have a scar… not that he didn’t apparently have one already.

Thankfully, the worst of the wound stopped bleeding about halfway through, and it looked like it was shallower than Edward had feared. This was a good thing, because Edward had glanced up for a moment and caught Vanessa looking woozy. That at least explained why she hadn’t volunteered to do this shit herself.

He didn’t speak again until the last bandage was placed carefully over Mustang’s side, and Edward leaned back against the bed wearily, his arm over his eyes. Vanessa rushed away with the towels and the bowl of now-red water, and Edward discovered that he was sweating.

“Thanks,” he muttered when she returned.

She sank into the chair. “Get some sleep. You look beat. If anything changes I’ll wake you.”

Edward wanted to protest - it was his job to keep an eye on Mustang, dammit. But he was tired, and Mustang was as out of danger as he could manage, and since Mustang had seemed inclined to trust this woman he might as well do the same. He thought about lifting Mustang to the bed, but somehow as soon as he’d decided that it was safe to rest, his body was refusing to cooperate. He barely heard Vanessa’s voice saying, “Hey… don’t you want to lay down?” as his eyes slid shut and his body slumped against the side of the bed, too tired to even lift himself into it.


	9. Arguing With an Idiot and Other Stupid Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks! I am not dead, and I have not forgotten this fic. Sorry about the delay!
> 
> While I doubt I'll have anything that could be called a regular update schedule, I do think this will start updating a bit more frequently than every two months. If you want to know why I think I can manage my life better now - and you want to read my excuses/whining about what prevented updates this time - you can read my end-of-the-chapter note.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who have continued to offer kudos and bookmarks and comments - it's been a tough couple of months and seeing that people were reading my writing and enjoying it really cheered me up. And also made this my first priority when I was finally able to sit down and write again. Anyway, on with the fic!
> 
> P.S. Warnings for flagrant invention in regards to how alchemy and alkahestry work, as well as particularly convenient information and notebooks appearing where necessary.

Edward thought he had only barely closed his eyes when he felt his shoulder being shaken. He groaned. “Just a few more minutes, Al...”

“Wake up, Ed. It’s Roy -” Not Al. Vanessa’s voice. Right.

Edward sat up immediately, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Is he alright?”

Her worried face told him the answer to his question, but she also said, “I don’t think so.”

Mustang was still laying on the floor. Edward scooted a few feet to lean over him, then licked his finger and placed it under Mustang’s nose. “He’s still breathing. Barely.” _Think, Ed, fucking think._ "Damn it. If it was just the wound… I can't fix whatever they dosed him with. If his picture didn't show up in the papers every two weeks I'd just drag his ass to the nearest doctor and say I found him in a ditch somewhere."

Vanessa massaged her temples with her fingers. "We might have to risk it anyway. If I'd had more time here -"

Edward snapped his fingers. "An Ishvalan healer."

She looked at him in confusion.

"They're what Ishvalans call their doctors. Their medicine isn't as advanced as ours, but they're pretty effective all the same. There's usually a settlement near every large city, and they almost always have a healer. If we can figure out where the East City camp is, they might be our best option." Greed had developed a taste for Ishvalan coffee, and so over the winter when Edward had traveled with him they'd occasionally snuck into Ishvalan camps to barter for it. Edward tended to be a hit with the children - go figure - and he'd first heard the healers mentioned in their chattering. At the time, he'd filed the information away in case he'd been injured while on the run from Father and the military.

"Well," Vanessa said slowly, "they would be sympathetic to Roy in particular, and wouldn't go running off to the local Headquarters." She nodded. "Smart. And something I can actually help with. I'll draw you a map and get a taxi to take you as close as possible."

Edward nodded and restlessly checked Mustang's shallow pulse again, brushing a few stray locks of hair away from his eyes. Then he paused. "Wait, you know where the camp is but not where to find a reliable doctor?"

She winked. "Knowledge depends on the sources,” was all she said.

Fifteen minutes later, Edward had Mustang's arm slung over his shoulders as he half-carried and half-dragged his limp burden to the waiting cab. A blue military-style hat was pulled low over Mustang's face. Vanessa followed, frowning as Edward bundled Mustang into the back seat.

"Tell your friend that if he passes out on me again, he's paying double."

"Sure thing," Edward said brightly, patting Mustang's shoulder. "Partying a bit too hard there, buddy. Better cut back before the sergeant finds out."

The cabby leered out the window. "I wouldn't pass out on a fine girl like you, doll."

"You can't afford me, honey," Vanessa said sweetly. She waved with a delicate flutter of fingers as Edward climbed inside the cab, then disappeared inside the building.

"To the barracks, then?" the cabby asked.

"Hell no," Edward said. "If the sergeant catches him like this he'll be peeling potatoes with a spoon for the next six months. Nah, take us to this address, I know a girl there who will let us stay till he sobers up." He handed the cabby a piece of paper with an address written on it. The cabby nodded and the car pulled away from the curb.

"So are you in the military too?" the cabby asked after a minute. Edward suppressed a sigh. Of course he would have gotten a chatty one.

“Yeah, I am. On leave for a few days though,” Edward said. “My mother’s been sick. Good thing for him, or there wouldn’t be anyone to drag his ass out of trouble.”

The cabby nodded in understanding. “He’s lucky to have a friend like yourself, then.”

Edward smirked. “I wouldn’t call him lucky. He’s going to owe me for the next decade.”

A chuckle came from the front seat, and then silence as the vehicle turned onto a busier street. Edward slumped, surreptitiously reaching over to check Mustang’s pulse. It took him a moment to find it, but it was still there, still fluttering weakly. _Keep fighting, you bastard. Don’t… you’re stronger than this. You’re stronger than_ them _._ Mustang had survived homunculi, the Gate of Truth, the fight with Father - it would be utterly absurd if something like this were to get the better of him.

He barely noticed that he’d continued to hold onto Mustang’s wrist until the car slowed in front of a run-down apartment building. It was half-covered with a dead ivy plant, which only barely disguised the fact that the brick face was riddled with cracks. From the looks of it, nobody had legitimately lived there for years. “Here you are, and good luck to you and your friend,” the cabby said, eying the building doubtfully.

Edward dropped Mustang’s wrist like it had burned him and dug through his pocket for his wallet. He tossed a few bills at the cabby. “Thanks. You can keep the change.” He got out and went to the other side of the cab to pull the older man’s arm over his shoulders, wrap his own arm around Mustang’s waist, and lift. Mustang’s feet dragged as Edward hauled him toward the entrance to the apartment building, definitely _not_ because Edward wasn’t tall enough to keep said feet off the ground.

Thankfully the cabby had no interest in staying in the area; the cab sped off before Edward reached the steps. Once it had rounded the corner, Edward stopped and headed down the street, ducking into the closest alleyway. “Hold on,” he muttered to Mustang, and leaned down to heft the man over his shoulders so that Mustang’s weight was better distributed and his feet were off the ground. The hat fell off; Edward didn't feel like bending down to grab it. “We’re almost there.”

Vanessa’s directions were perfect. His path took him through the alleyway, then into another, narrower one, and then to a grassy, barely visible trail that twisted behind a line of trees and towards a hedge. His muscles started to burn fairly quickly - Mustang wasn't particularly light - but his attention was far more focused on the route he was taking, watching for any people who felt the need to frequent the forgotten alleyways of the wrong side of East City. Thankfully, tonight there were none.

He stopped when he heard a voice and crept closer as silently as he could. The syllables sounded Amestrian, not Ishvalan; but who’d be lurking here, next to the camp -

Alphonse, that’s who, he realized a second later when a voice as familiar as his own responded to the first one. And Havoc, whose face was illuminated briefly by the soft glow of a lighter.

“Havoc? Al? What are you two doing here?” Edward said, raising his free hand to shield Mustang from a branch as he pushed through the last of the hedge.

“Brother?” Of course Alphonse was surprised, why wouldn’t he be surprised. Edward could hear the worry and relief in his brother’s voice. He belatedly remembered that news of the hotel explosion would have traveled quickly, and Alphonse had a tendency to worry, no matter how good Edward was at getting himself out of trouble. “Brother, what happened to you? Is the Brigadier General okay?”

No. No, the Brigadier General was not fucking okay. _But he will be,_ Edward told himself. “Long story, Al. I’ll tell you later. I need to get him to the healer here.”

Alphonse reached his side in a matter of seconds and carefully helped Edward lower Mustang from his shoulders. “The healer’s sick. Everyone is. Somebody poisoned the well.”

Edward barely heard much beyond ‘The healer’s sick’, as he was rather preoccupied with the knot his stomach folded itself into at the words. However, he did pick up the words ‘poisoned the well’, and the nausea and fear morphed into _rage_. “That damned Colonel. He’s been fucking things up here, too?” Screw tearing off the man’s ass, he’d _burn_ it, he’d burn _him_ , he’d tear out his eyeballs and rip out his fingernails -

Alphonse responded, apparently oblivious to the sea of red that swam before Edward’s eyes. “Looks like it. But Dr. Knox should get here from Central by tomorrow -”

The memory of that weakly fluttering pulse broke Edward from his plans to make Colonel Kurzmann and everything he’d ever loved die in a fire. “There might not be enough time. He’s been poisoned and badly injured. He needs a doctor _now_.” Or… something. He shook his head to clear it; there would be time enough for hunting down the fucking murderous traitor later. “Alphonse, you know more about medical alchemy than I do. And that alkahestry stuff. Do you have any ideas on dealing with poison?”

Alphonse blinked, but the brothers had been in too many emergencies, had needed to adapt to too many situations for Alphonse to freeze now. “I might be able to come up with something. Let’s set him down for now.”

Havoc finally spoke for the first time. “Put him here,” he said, laying his military jacket on the ground.

Alphonse took Mustang from Edward gently, and placed him on the jacket. “I need something to draw with,” he murmured.

“Don’t have anything,” Edward said.

Havoc offered them a strained grin. “I’ve got a notebook and a pencil,” he said, holding both implements out.

Alphonse nodded, sat down beside Mustang and started sketching. Edward knelt across from him, leaning over Mustang to watch the familiar circle take shape. He barely noticed that he’d grabbed Mustang’s hand as he analyzed Alphonse’s work. Despite being unable to do alchemy, if anything he was even better at understanding the matrix now, reading each line and each symbol like a book. His continued study of the science was partly out of nostalgia, partly interest, and partly the connection he had shared with Alphonse over it ever since they were both toddlers. If pressed, he might even admit that it was a small, tenuous link to his memories of his mother’s approval; she had rarely smiled wider than when he and Alphonse presented to her their latest crudely-made little statuette. However, he recognized only about half of what Alphonse was drawing.

“Is that alkahestry or alchemy? It doesn’t look exactly like either.” Edward could sort of see what Alphonse was going for - it somewhat resembled the sort of design he used to use to clean clothing, except designed for a different set of chemicals. However, there was a sort of overlay of lines that he didn’t recognize, modifying the reaction in ways he couldn’t account for.

“It’s a mixture of both,” Alphonse said, continuing to sketch. “Poison is tricky. You know why it’s still used, when any halfway decent alchemist can remove the poison itself?”

“Yeah, because by the time you notice it’s there, it’s already done a lot of damage.” The unused knowledge came back to Edward immediately. “If the heart and lungs have been affected, the body might not recover fast enough for the removal of the poison to negate the effects. Plus, if you don’t know what the poison is made of, you can mess up a lot by messing around with the body’s chemistry, since a lot of poisons tend to be organically-based.”

“Right,” Alphonse said. “If it were just alchemy, this would be a lot trickier. And alkahestry tends to focus on directing the body’s own energy to heal itself, but he’s too weak to risk that. But if I combine the two, I can use alkahestry to separate the ‘good energy’ from the ‘bad energy’, so to speak, and alchemy to remove the poison once I’ve got a read on which is which. Plus, if I can use alkahestry to give his energy a bit of a boost - and alchemy to supply the energy, rather than his own _chi_ or the earth’s energy, which is a bit weaker -” Alphonse gestured to a series of lines with the pencil - “I can heal the damage much quicker than with pure alchemy.”

“Alphonse,” Edward said slowly, “I know you already know this, but you are a genius.”

Havoc broke into the conversation. “I knew you had it in ya.”

Alphonse grinned at him. “Wait until we see if it works.” He tore the circle out of the notebook and laid it on Mustang’s chest. He laid the notebook and pencil aside - Havoc scooped them up and pocketed them again - and then Alphonse lightly touched his fingers to the markings. A blue glow illuminated the night, including the face of a small Ishvalan child who had, for all intents and purposes, appeared from nowhere behind Alphonse.

As the last few sparks died away, Edward released the hand he’d been gripping tightly to press his fingers to Mustang’s wrist yet again. The pulse beat strongly, steadily, and the icy vise that had been squeezing his heart relaxed.

“That’s Mister Mustang. I saw his face in the paper,” the kid said.

“That’s right,” Alphonse said, half-turning.

“Is he poisoned too?”

“ _Was_ poisoned. If I got the reaction right -” Alphonse reached up to lift one of Mustang’s eyelids, leaned close to his face and squinted - “he should just be recovering. Yes, I think I did it.” He grinned triumphantly, then his smile faded. “But I guess that doesn’t help the camp much.”

“The guys who got the camp are probably the same ones who tried to off him,” Havoc supplied. “Wouldn't be surprised if it's the same kind of poison, too. Maybe whatever mumbo-jumbo you just used could cure the Ishvalan folks here.”

Edward wasn’t sure who the kid was, and didn’t particularly care. Now that his fear for Mustang was starting to wear off, it was quickly being replaced by a burning desire to hunt down Kurzmann and all his cronies and teach them a lesson. _Adrenaline spike_ , he told himself. He really needed to let off some steam. Unfortunately, now was not the time - Mustang was still unconscious, and it looked like some people besides Mustang were in trouble. His responsibility was to stay here and keep an eye on Brigadier General Trouble, and maybe see if he could help out with the camp.

Who was he kidding; the camp didn’t need any help from him. The only thing he was good for these days was when there was something physical to punch. But the least he could do, he supposed, was listen to what was going on, in case there did end up being something to punch.

This decided, he tried to make himself actually listen to the conversation, only to find that it was mostly finished.

“I guess it’s okay if it’s Mister Mustang,” the little red-eyed brat was saying. “And if you can help Mom…”

“I really think I can,” Alphonse said gently.

“Follow me,” the boy said.

Alphonse reached to lift Mustang’s shoulders, but Edward was quicker. Alphonse shrugged and let Edward lift Mustang and wearily stand, his glare defying anyone to argue the matter. Of course Havoc didn’t see the expression, and felt the need to ask, “Are you sure you don’t want any help, Boss?”

Edward paused, then answered, “I got him here. It can’t be that far.” Somehow, carrying Mustang - feeling that he was still warm, still _alive_ , the lightest puff of breath cooling his cheek ever so slightly - was exactly what he needed. The burn of his tired muscles (he’d so be teasing Mustang about his weight once this was over) just helped to keep him grounded, helped him focus on the here and now rather than on the anger that made him want to drop everything and go _kick some military asses_.

And then they were off, following the boy. The camp was eerily silent; no one came out to greet them as they wove their way through the paths between tents pitched in a semi-orderly pattern, the crickets almost drowning out the sound of their footsteps. Alphonse walked just a little bit behind the boy, quietly trying to hold a conversation that appeared to consist of questions about the boy’s family and the camp, answered in Ishvalan-accented monosyllables. Havoc had paused to ditch the burnt-down cigarette he’d been smoking and pick up his dew-damp military jacket, and therefore followed behind Edward in the leisurely amble of the absurdly giant and long-legged.

Thankfully, the tent that the boy ducked into wasn’t far away, and was fairly roomy considering the fact that it was a tent. There wasn’t much light or much of a place to lay Mustang, but the kid magnanimously gestured to a pile of blankets in the corner. “Mister Mustang can use my bed,” the kid said. “The other kids will be so jealous when I tell them that we had Mister Mustang over.” He looked up at Alphonse. “You’ll help them, right?”

“Yeah, I will,” Alphonse said. “But first, your mother?”

Another pile of blankets nearby, upon closer inspection, contained a young, white-haired woman. Alphonse immediately dropped to his knees beside her while Edward lowered Mustang to the pile of blankets, hoping that they were at least halfway sanitary but not willing to inspect them closely enough to find out. He didn’t turn at the blue glow that overtook the dim yellow lamp light that emanated from a dusty lantern, choosing instead to settle a few feet away from Mustang, rest his forearms on his knees and lean back cautiously against the stretched fabric of the tent. It seemed fairly secure; he allowed himself to relax more fully, eyes trained on Mustang. He saw from the corner of his eye that Alphonse quickly turned away from the woman to do some clap-alchemy on the large clay jugs in the corner. “I’ve purified your water. Give some to her when she wakes up,” he said to the Ishvalan boy.

Said boy frowned. “But who’s gonna help you find all the sick people?”

“I can probably manage on my own,” Alphonse said. “But -”

The boy grabbed Alphonse’s hand. “Come on. And you,” he pointed at Edward, “give Mom some water when she wakes up.”

“Sure,” Edward muttered. It seemed to be enough for the boy, who dragged Alphonse out of the tent.

He heard Alphonse suggesting that Havoc to report to Hawkeye after ducking through the hanging cloth in front of the entrance, which Edward recognized as Alphonse’s polite way of all but ordering him to do it. Havoc didn’t sound inclined to argue. Soon, Edward was left alone with the unconscious woman and a similarly-unconscious Mustang.

This was going to be a long night.

\-----

The woman woke first. She was a bit groggy, until she realized that it was an Amestrian stranger who was putting a glass of water in her hands; and then she sputtered and spit out the water and glared suspiciously. Edward had to hastily explain that the water was fine, he promised, her son had invited them, and oh yeah it was _them_ , that was Brigadier General Mustang laying in her son’s bed and he’d been poisoned too and Edward and his brother worked for him and were there to help. This series of jumbled explanations seemed to do the trick, as she took the water and soon went back to sleep.

It took longer for Mustang to wake up. So long, in fact, that Edward fell asleep sitting up for the second time that night, and woke to find the morning light filtering through the tent’s fabric. The woman was gone; he and Mustang were alone. And Mustang’s eyes were half-open, watching him quietly.

He liked the guy and all, but if that wasn’t just a little fucking creepy… The irritation was mostly drowned out by the overwhelming relief that Mustang was awake, though, and since the man had almost died he deserved better than to have the first thing he heard be Edward yelling at him. There would be plenty of yelling later, when Edward chewed him out for jumping in front of a goddamn bomb.

But what to say… that was harder. “Glad to see you're alive,” he mumbled, figuring that saying something was better than an awkward silence.

“I'm glad to see I’m alive, too,” Mustang responded, breaking eye contact to search the roof of the tent. “If you wouldn't mind telling me where we are?”

“The local Ishvalan camp,” Edward told him. “I didn't have any better ideas so I dragged your ass here after I patched you up at Vanessa’s place. Lucky for you I found Al here with Havoc - looks like the assholes dropped by to drop a bunch of fucking poison in the well, and they were investigating. Al figured out some combination of alchemy and alkahestry that got rid of the stuff. Not sure where he and Havoc got to, but at least Al’s probably around here somewhere.”

“Good. So I’ve only been out for one night?” Mustang closed his eyes briefly then opened them.

“Yeah.” Edward stared fixedly at the tent's entrance, hoping it would disguise his roiling emotions. Not that he thought it would do any good; he was as transparent as a glass of water when he wasn’t hiding behind anger and bravado, and Mustang could be damn perceptive at times.

There was a moment of blessed silence in which he thought he could get away without losing it, but then Mustang spoke in a quiet, gentle voice. “Edward, I… I don't know what happened after I lost consciousness, but I’m fairly certain you saved my life last night. Thank you.”

Edward glared at his hands. “You were the one who jumped in front of a fucking bomb. Seriously, what the _fuck_ , Mustang? You were already sick, and if I hadn't found Al last night, Hawkeye would be flaying me alive right now for bringing back your corpse. Don't forget you're paying me for this bodyguard shit. I don't need you to _save_ me.”

“Edward, you've known me for years now. Did you really expect me to sit by when you - or Alphonse, or any of my subordinates - are in danger?”

Edward clung to the anger; it made it easier to look Mustang in the eye and say the speech he'd rehearsed all night. “No, and that's why I have to tell you to _quit it_. I know you've got some sort of god complex where you have to save everyone, or else you think you're a fucking useless waste of space. Hell, I’ve got one myself, I know what it's like, but _I_ learned that you can't save everyone, and sometimes you need to rely on others, whether it's to take care of themselves or help you save everyone so you're not doing it by yourself. You can't help anyone if you're dead. Dumbass.”

Even before he finished the rant, Edward could see the tightening of the muscles in Mustang’s jaw that meant he was planning to argue. “If you're trying to tell me that I was wrong to protect you, then you're not going to get very far,” he said coldly. “Especially when we both know you'd do the same, if our positions were reversed.” His eye glimmered. “Of course, you'd have to find a chair to stand on…”

“Fuck you,” Edward said loudly. “Who are you calling so small he'd need a goddamn chair to -”

“Are you two fighting _again_?” Alphonse said from outside the tent. Edward snapped his mouth shut as his brother's head appeared inside the tent. “It's good to see you awake, Sir,” he continued, addressing Mustang. “Is now a good time to interrupt?”

“Certainly, Alphonse, unless Edward has something more he'd like to say.”

Sure, there was a lot he'd like to say, but the moment was past and Mustang would probably just derail him with another insult if he started up again. “Just that you’re a bastard,” he responded.

“Brother!” Alphonse said reproachfully, but he seemed to realize that Edward wasn't about to apologize no matter what he said. He turned to Mustang. “ _Anyway_ , Havoc and I have been in communication with Hawkeye and Fuery. I spent most of the night treating the poisoning cases - I’m not sure if Brother told you… “

Mustang nodded.

“Right. Well, after that, I cleaned up the well and made us some radios since we seem to be in rather short supply. They’re rather rough but I think I got the general idea, I was looking at some of Fuery’s notes on the way and I gave them a modified version of the power sources he uses in the bugs we’ve been planting. Colonel Kurzmann has made no further calls from military lines, but that doesn’t mean much if he’s calling from his home; Havoc wants permission to tail him tonight. Hawkeye had him go to sleep a few hours ago so he can take the first shift monitoring the radio. I think she’s worried about you, Sir; she’ll be glad to hear you’re awake. She did tell Doctor Knox to stay in Central once she heard that you and the Ishvalans were fine; she didn’t think you’d want him endangered as well. The Ishvalans offered us some of their tents. The family who lives in this one is staying with friends at the moment, but Havoc chose to return to the… er… flower shop.”

Mustang nodded, then pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing. “Thank you, Alphonse. You should get some sleep as well.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, which was a hilarious disaster; it settled a little bit, but remained more in the category of ridiculous than the usual artistic tousle. “At this point I highly doubt that pretending we are completely oblivious to the source of the attacks will help; however, if this camp was already attacked, it is even more likely to be targeted with us here.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s me they’re after; it should be safe enough for you, Havoc and Fuery to find another hotel. Edward and I will find quarters on our own.”

“Very well, Sir.” Alphonse smiled tiredly. “I’ll go bring one of the radios so you can contact us. Is there anything else?”

“That will be all.”

Alphonse shot a glance at Edward - the one that either meant ‘take care of yourself, Brother’ or ‘behave yourself, Brother’, and often meant both - and then departed. Mustang didn’t seem interested in laying back down, but he still looked tired. Edward really wished Doctor Knox were still coming, as he really didn’t think he’d done that great of a job on the wound. Speaking of which… “I’ll go see if the camp has any medical supplies. I should rebandage that wound.”

“It can wait,” Mustang said shortly.

Alphonse poked his head inside the tent yet again before Edward could respond and left a sturdy-looking radio with a “Here you go!” Then he was gone again.

Edward was about to ask exactly why they couldn’t rebandage the wound now, but Mustang looked like he was trying to struggle to his feet. Edward frowned at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“ _We_ are going to find a safe place to stay, and then we are going to find breakfast and appropriate attire for the dinner tonight,” Mustang - now hereby named ‘fucking idiot’ by Edward - said.

Goddamn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why haven't I been updating recently, and why do I think I can start updating now? The short answer is, I've started taking an antidepressant and I'm finally starting to function as an actual human being again, which is doing wonders for my writing abilities. Between college and two jobs, alongside dysthymia (a.k.a chronic mild/functional depression)... well, normally I can handle the whole unhappy-with-life-the-universe-and-everything deal, but it kinda got away from me for the past couple of months. Medication hasn't been the perfect answer to all my problems, but what it has done is bring back motivation and energy to do both the things I need to do and want to do, and one of the things I've really, really wanted to do was work on this fic. I like writing this - getting inside the characters' heads is fun, and I've missed it. Plus, as I said in the pre-chapter note, one of the things that makes my day better is seeing that somebody actually likes the stuff I write. So, yeah. Thanks to everyone who's still keeping an eye on this fic; you people are awesome and you make my life happier.


	10. Conversations That Should Not Happen Before Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse the awkward chapter title. I ran out of inspiration after finishing the chapter, but wanted to post this now that it's finally done.
> 
> And I just want to say, thank you all so much for all the kind things everyone said in the comments on the last chapter! I have some of the nicest readers ever, seriously. As I said before, it really helps to see everyone enjoying this so much. I apologize for the delays in getting more of this written; I'm really glad I figured out everything and have this up now, at least!
> 
> Warning for a ridiculous amount of dialogue, some profanity and a continuously grumpy Edward. I'm gonna go ahead blame about half of the angst on the fact that ~~I haven't~~ he hasn't eaten in a while.

_Of all the stupid ideas the damn moron could possibly have…_

“Did you hit your head?” Edward asked as Mustang swayed unsteadily on his feet.

Mustang favored him with a world-weary look. “You'll get a chance to practice your medical talents at some point this morning, which are excellent, I’m sure. I'd rather it be where our friends here are not endangered, though.”

“While that's pretty fucking important, you have to know that I’m talking about the dinner with the psychopath. What in the name of Truth gave you the idea that going anywhere near _food served personally_ by the number one suspect who just tried to off you _with poison_ is any sort of a good idea?”

“Edward, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Something about those words sounded a bit familiar, but Edward didn't take the time to figure out why. “Like you knew what you were doing yesterday when you _jumped in front of a bomb_?”

Mustang held up his hand. “At least let's get out of the camp. I'll explain on the way. “

Edward sighed loudly, glaring, but picked up the radio Alphonse had left and stepped away from the entrance to the tent. The blue glow and slight crackle of a transmutation caused him to turn, just in time to see Mustang pull his now-clean blue military jacket over a similarly clean white shirt, not a single tear to be seen. Edward followed Mustang out of the tent in silence, watching him narrowly to make sure he was walking straight. Mustang moved slowly but determinedly and seemed to stand straighter with every step.

The camp was much livelier than it had been the previous night. Once Edward tore his eyes away from the blue-coated back in front of him, he saw the white-haired inhabitants of the camp moving about; a knot of women there, chattering in foreign syllables, water jugs resting on the ground; a harried man there, carrying an axe; a group of children running past, shouting excitedly. One of these last broke away from the group and trotted toward Mustang and Edward.

“Mom told me to tell you thanks for last night, if I saw you,” the boy said to Edward. Oh, right, this was the kid from the previous night.

“Don't mention it,” Edward mumbled awkwardly. “Al’s the one who really did most of the work.”

“You're his brother, right?” the kid said. “He's really cool. I guess Amestrians aren't all bad.” He turned to Mustang, suddenly looking shy. “Um, so you're really Mister Mustang?”

Mustang looked somewhat uncertain about the right response. “Well, yes.”

The boy’s face lit up. “Oh man, this is awesome! Did you really tell the Fuhrer to give Ishval back to us or you'd burn down Central?”

Edward barked out a laugh, and Mustang looked like he was struggling to suppress a smile. “That's not... quite the way it happened. Fuhrer Grumman was far more favorable to the idea of rebuilding Ishval than Bradley.”

“Wanna know a secret, though?” Edward said, leaning down. “He did singe Central a bit several years ago. They cleaned it up for the most part, but it took them a few weeks to get the scorch marks out of the pavement in front of Central headquarters.”

“Wow, really?” The kid's eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Yeah, really.” Edward glanced at Mustang, a wide grin splitting his face.

Now Mustang was entirely failing to hide his amused smirk, though it was tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “Edward, let’s go.”

“You know,” the kid said, “you're not really like your brother, but you're cool too.”

“Course I am,” Edward said. “Thanks. Take care of your Mom, you hear?”

The boy's chest puffed out. “I will!” he said, before scampering off toward his friends.

“Took a few weeks, did it?” Mustang said as they moved on. Edward fell into step alongside him.

“Yeah, you were still stuck in the hospital and… well… you couldn't have seen it, even if you weren't… there...” Great. Could he be any more awkward?

“I was blind, yes,” Mustang said.

“Well, anyways,” Edward said louder than necessary, “most of the repair crew and halfway-decent alchemists were busy with the really significant damage, and everyone else was busy digging around in that underground place where Father was hiding out, and of course you have to have heard about all the trouble they had with angry chimaeras -”

Mustang snorted a laugh. 

“Yeah, those weren't exactly happy with having their roof fall in on them, and then having to deal with a bunch of nosy alchemists and military. Anyway, it took a few weeks before they got to the courtyard, so those scorch marks from where you zapped Father were there for a while.”

“I didn't know that,” Mustang said.

“Nobody told you, I guess.”

“I'm surprised you left Alphonse’s side long enough to find out yourself.”

Edward shrugged. “Al wanted to know how things were going, and it wasn't like the newspapers were going to tell the full story. Besides, he spent so much time sleeping - he didn't need me around waking him up.”

This was… kind of nice. It wasn't like he and Mustang never talked without arguing, but sometimes he forgot that they _could_. And for once, this morning - with Mustang wounded, and recovering from nearly dying - Edward didn't feel the need to stop himself from enjoying the moment.

This wasn't anything. Mustang was as hopelessly off-limits as ever. But… well, this wasn't an ordinary day. Maybe today, Edward could pretend, for once, that he didn't irritate Mustang half to death, and that Mustang cared about him beyond the whole overprotective-of-everybody thing. Maybe they could just have a normal conversation for once.

Yeah, that was bullshit. Because he was Edward Elric and this was Roy Mustang, flint and steel. And never the twain shall meet without sparks flying and fuses lit.

Edward took a deep breath as they approached the hedge, shifted the radio to a better place under his arm, then spoke. “So, about this dinner thing.”

The slight smile on Mustang’s face vanished.

“I think I get it. You want to throw that asshole Colonel off balance by showing up where he least expects you. Any sane person would stay the hell away from that banquet. Of course, it would be smarter in most cases to act like yeah, the poison worked, he got you, and then hide out and surprise him later, but with the amount of work he's been putting into offing you, he's probably not going to stop till he sees a body.”

Mustang nodded, eying Edward speculatively. Edward continued.

“What I don't get is that you're trying to make him _overestimate_ you. So he threw snipers and poison and bombs at you, and you're still snooping around as much as ever. Problem is, he's probably going to throw more poison and more bombs, and given that they nearly worked I think it's a stupid idea. But I’ll bet you've got some sneaky bullshit reason why it's not going to work this time, even though underestimating him nearly got you killed already.”

Mustang was silent for a long minute, and Edward snuck a glance at his face before he stepped aside for Mustang to find his way through the hedge first. It was thoughtful; maybe Edward had gotten something right for once. _Yeah, like not starting by calling him a fucking idiot._ That probably helped.

Finally, as they turned down a garbage-strewn alleyway, Mustang spoke again.

“I wouldn't exactly call this underestimating the Colonel. I simply… did not properly identify his goals. While I would like to confirm my theory - I would not be surprised if the poison used on me was from a plant grown in Ishval. Did you notice the cook at the hotel yesterday, when you and I were at breakfast?” Mustang asked.

Edward tried to search his memory, but most of the previous morning was a blur, over which heat and smoke and a fluttering pulse and tired muscles and careful stitching of torn skin and fear and anger had been branded. He shook his head.

“I admit I only caught a glimpse through the door into the kitchen, but he had white hair and red eyes,” Mustang told him.

Edward’s eyes widened. “You think he was trying to frame the Ishvalans.”

Mustang’s expression turned grim. “Even if it ended as only rumors - the public is only somewhat favorable to the restoration of Ishval, and there are many who would immediately believe a story about my murder by the Ishvalans. If I disappear for too long - or if the Colonel succeeds in, ah, bringing about my demise, and an Ishvalan is the chief suspect, public opinion will turn hostile to the restoration efforts very quickly.” The corner of his mouth twitched in a wry almost-smirk. “It might be too late already. If he can pin the blame for the hotel bombing incident on an Ishvalan - well, the power of the newspapers and radio is far greater than any poison. I've used it to my own advantage before.”

“But he doesn't have anything that would _stick_ , right? I mean, if Central already suspects him -”

“It doesn't have to stick,” Mustang said. “The Ishvalans may have suffered the most in the war, but there were plenty of those who in the military who lost their lives as well. Many of their families still hold grudges. Not to mention all those who escaped with their lives, but not with their limbs - you would know more about that than I.”

Edward reflexively glanced down at his left leg. He usually tried not to think about why Pinako and Winry had the brisk business they did, even in an out-of-the-way town like Resembooll. _Winry..._ He mentally flinched away from the thought; he had enough to worry about right now without thinking about how to deal with that particular mess. He wasn't particularly looking forward to losing his best childhood friend besides Al.

“If the Ishvalans are painted as monsters,” Mustang continued, “people will believe, and that would be enough.”

Edward shook his head. “Don’t these cocksucking shitstains realize that they could _start another war_?”

Mustang raised an eyebrow at him.

“God _fucking_ damn it.”

“Well put,” Mustang said dryly.

“Which means that you’re going to this dinner so he can’t say that the Ishvalans offed you.” They were approaching a busier street now; Mustang was moving surprisingly quickly for someone with a hole in his side. Edward was pretty sure that he was in a lot more pain than he looked.

“It would certainly help. However, there is plenty to be done before that. I will contact Major Hawkeye this morning regarding possible options to prevent misunderstandings about my death and the source of the bombing.”

All this political stuff was making Edward’s head hurt. And he still didn’t feel any better about Mustang’s chances of survival. “And if Colonel Asshole serves dinner à la poison?”

Mustang smirked at him. "We tell him it's delicious and let things work themselves out.”

Oh god they were all going to die.

“Are you out of your _mind_?” Edward hissed, glancing around at the street they had turned onto.

Mustang shook his head, still looking slightly amused. “Let’s discuss it later.”

Later. It was always ‘later’ that they were going to discuss these sorts of things. Edward had never quite figured out when ’later’ was; his current working hypothesis was ‘in another lifetime’. At any rate, that smirk told him he’d get nothing more out of Mustang than misdirection and sarcasm, so it wasn’t any use pressing the subject.

This left an awkward silence between them, only slightly helped by the busyness of the street. Edward glared at the sidewalk to avoid glaring at Mustang. It was fine if Mustang wanted his secrets, it really was. Still, Edward had a job to do, and maybe, just _maybe_ , it would be easier for everyone if he wasn’t charging in blindly and making an absolute fucking mess of everything.

“So where exactly are we going?” he finally asked.

“If Vanessa is in town, I’m fairly certain I know where to find her at this time of the day,” Mustang responded. “I’m not sure how much she told you…”

“She works for your mother who owns a bar, and knows a lot of information.”

Mustang made a face and nodded. “If anyone in this town is capable of finding us a safehouse, it’s her. My mother’s people tend to specialize in that.”

Well, all wasn’t lost, Edward decided. At least Vanessa had bandages.

\-----

About fifteen minutes later, Edward found himself glaring at a garishly bright flower of a variety he didn’t know while Mustang talked with Vanessa. And by talked, he meant that Vanessa was chewing out Mustang as she neatly arranged a bouquet of roses in a glass vase.

“Seriously, you could at least call, you know,” she said. “It’s not like you to neglect your best source of information.”

“I’ve been busy,” Mustang responded.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that, we both know you’re avoiding us again. Just like that time when -”

Mustang cleared his throat loudly and glanced at Edward, who was watching this exchange out of the corner of his eye while trying to remember what species of flower he was looking at. He supposed that there was a sort of brilliance to a flower shop being Mustang’s cover-up, given the amount of womanizing he apparently did. Come to think of it, hadn’t Al said something about Havoc being at a flower shop…?

“What, you don’t want Ed to hear?” Vanessa smiled deviously. “Either call your poor mother more often, or I’ll give Ed a personal invitation to the shop. And you _know_ I have worse stories to tell.”

Mustang looked a little pale. “I’ll call, I promise.”

Edward gave up on identifying the flower and grinned toothily at the two of them. “Not going to invite me anyway?”

“Edward, I _really_ don’t recommend that,” Mustang said quickly.

“Aw, we’ll be good, I promise.” Vanessa’s tone was honey-sweet. “Madame has wanted to meet him for ever so long -”

“On another subject,” Mustang said loudly, “do you have a safe place for us to stay?”

“Of course I do,” Vanessa said. “What do you take me for?” She gave a final tweak to a rose’s stem and stood. “For the moment, though, you can have my rooms. The place you were in last night, though you probably don’t remember.” She winked at Edward. “Just for today, of course; I’ll make arrangements for a better place by tomorrow.”

The room with only one bed in it. Fucking fantastic.

“Perfect,” Mustang said. “If you would be so kind - I have a lot to do this morning and would appreciate it if -”

“It’s behind this shop.” Vanessa tossed him a key, which Mustang caught effortlessly. “I’ll find you a phone by this afternoon. Edward, there’s more bandages in the closet; make sure he uses them.”

“Sure thing,” Edward said.

Mustang smiled waveringly. “Thank you, and give my regards to Madame.”

“Give them to her yourself,” Vanessa said sharply. “When you get that phone I expect that phone call.”

Mustang sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Edward headed for a side door once Mustang turned to look expectantly at him. Mustang followed silently, as Edward ascertained when he paused after stepping out the door and onto a sunlit sidewalk. The silence continued until they were in Vanessa’s room and Mustang had settled into the only chair in the room. Edward set the radio by the door and went to rummage in the closet.

“Would you be so kind as to pass the radio over?” Mustang murmured.

Edward lifted the bag of medical supplies down from a high shelf. “Not until that wound’s rebandaged,” he said.

“That’s an order,” Mustang responded with a hint of sharpness.

Edward set the bag on the set of drawers and turned to face Mustang. “Look, I know you’ve got shit to do,” he said. “Just let me take care of this, and I promise to shut up and stay out of your hair for the rest of the day. Unless you’d like to do it yourself.”

Mustang looked unsure.

“Please, Sir.” Maybe the moment of uncharacteristic politeness would win this particular battle. It seemed to do the trick, as Mustang looked away and then began unbuttoning his shirt.

It struck Edward as he knelt by the chair just how intimate the position was. The scent of rust and smoke still clung to Mustang, and as he pushed the shirt farther away from the blood-stained bandages over the wound his fingers brushed warm skin that twitched at the touch. Edward kept his face down under pretense of staring at the wound, his cheeks burning as surely as if a snap of Mustang’s fingers had set them afire.

He should have just thrown the bandages at Mustang and bullied the man into doing this himself. Because this was sheer torture - Edward could barely resist the urge to brush his fingers against that skin again, to see if it would spark a more prolonged shudder if he dragged his fingers along old scars and defined muscle. Instead, he avoided touching Mustang as much as possible as he loosened the bandages and eased them away from the wound. He pulled away for a moment to soak a wad of folded gauze with antiseptic, then dabbed at the spots where the bandages had stuck to skin.

Mustang shifted once the final bandage fell away. Edward risked a glance at Mustang’s face as he reached for more gauze and antiseptic. Mustang was examining the uneven line of stitching that held the wound closed with a strained expression. Edward wasn't sure if the expression was due to the sting of the antiseptic or his feelings about Edward’s lackluster handiwork.

“If you have any complaints you can patch yourself up next time,” he said in case it was the latter, then went back to the job of cleaning the skin around the stitches.

“It’s hardly the worst patch-up job I’ve had,” Mustang said dryly. “I believe that title goes to myself, from the last time I had a large hole in my side.”

Talking was good; it distracted Edward from the urge to see just how solid the muscles were that tensed ever so slightly as Mustang leaned back. “I’m guessing that's where this came from?” he said, lightly tapping the darker skin. “It looks more like a burn than anything.”

“Correct on both counts. Perhaps Alphonse has told you about the injuries I sustained in the fight with Lust?”

Edward would have had a thing or two to say about fighting with lust and his current situation, if it wasn't for the fact that he'd rather die than say anything of the sort aloud. Instead, he frowned and said, “I heard a lot more about Havoc’s injuries. And I was kind of distracted once I got back from my _completely unexpected_ trip out East.” That was the best job he could do on the wound; he leaned back to grab the fresh bandages from the bag of supplies. His arms were starting to ache from the awkward position leaning over the arm of the chair, not helped by his refusal to touch Mustang any more than absolutely necessary. While he was glad that Mustang was awake and alive, it was so much easier to avoid... _distraction_ when he was panickedly focused on keeping the man alive. “But yeah, I heard she did a number on you.”

“I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining why the trip had to be unexpected,” Mustang said with a hint of a smile that disappeared as the first bandage covered the wound. “Anyway, I had little choice beyond cauterizing the wound she left in my side. I’m told I’m lucky I didn’t get an infection from the burns, but it was effective enough.”

Edward nodded. It would be absolutely ridiculous to worry about something that had happened years ago, especially when he had enough to worry about now. Somehow, though, he didn’t like thinking about Mustang being wounded. Not to mention that it was a bit weird realizing that both of them had self-treated holes in their sides, during the same couple of months no less. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. “At least all the scarring’s all in the same spot. And it’s not like it’s on your face. It’d be really bad if you had to try to attract all the ladies in Central with just your personality,” Edward said sourly.

“Why Edward, are you implying that you consider my face attractive?” Mustang said mockingly.

Back to staring fixedly at his work and desperately hoping that Mustang didn’t notice that his face was once again on fire. “Shut up, you know what I meant,” he growled. Normally Edward could handle Mustang’s banter, but normally he wasn’t already this on edge. The previous day’s stress and the current day’s worries combined with an unusual proximity to Mustang’s abs made for a nerve-wracking cocktail of emotions. He needed to finish this as quickly as possible, he needed to get away - or, failing that, he needed to punch something. Preferably Colonel Asshole. The last thing he needed was to be practically leaning over Mustang’s lap in this tiny room, listening for almost undetectable hitches in breathing when a bandage pressed over raw, torn skin, trying _not_ to contemplate just how much of an understatement the word “attractive” was as a description of how he considered Mustang.

“Really? What did you mean, Edward?” Mustang said in a low, still teasing voice - in that almost-purr that scattered Edward’s thoughts like ashes in a high wind.

Edward was silent for a long minute that stretched into awkwardness, trying to muster his composure yet again. He was far past the ability to meet Mustang’s eyes; he scowled at his own hands instead, which somehow continued to move on their own, patting the bandages into place. “I meant shut up,” he said as steadily as he could manage, once he was sure he wouldn’t choke on the words. With a final press of his fingers on now-pristine white bandages, he pulled away as quickly as possible and started gathering the bloodstained dressing together. Maybe the next room over - most likely the bathroom, he guessed - would have a waste basket. Mustang didn’t reply, and he took the silence as an opportunity to hurry away with the debris.

He was right about both the purpose of the room and the existence of a waste basket. Edward dropped the bundle he was holding into it, letting the door fall half-closed behind him, then stared at himself in the mirror. His hair was bedraggled and limp, he had bags under his eyes, and his face was streaked with dirt. He supposed that he should be grateful that Mustang let a mess like him hang around at all. _Don’t get ahead of yourself, Ed. Don’t forget that he’s off limits. Get ahold of yourself, go out there, clean up the supplies, and let him do his job without getting in his way._

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed the door open. Mustang’s chair faced away from it, and the bag of medical supplies was still on the desk next to it. Edward still avoided looking at Mustang as he rounded the chair and bent to pick it up, though from the corner of his eye he could see that Mustang had buttoned his shirt again.

“Edward, I apologize,” Mustang said softly. “I was out of line. I -”

 _Stop. Just stop._ “Don’t worry about it,” Edward said brusquely. He shoved the bag back into the closet, then picked up the radio and put it on the desk next to Mustang. “I’m gonna go shower now. Sounds like you have a lot to do so, as I said, I’ll stay out of your hair.”

He hurried back to the bathroom and shut the door, then sagged wearily against it. After a minute, he heard Mustang’s voice through it distantly. “Major Hawkeye -”

Edward closed his eyes, opened them, and went to turn on the water in the tiny shower to drown out the voices in the next room over, a bit colder than normal. He tugged the hair tie out of his hair and let it fall around his face. Maybe after a shower he’d feel better. And breakfast. He could really go for some breakfast right now. If he couldn’t relax entirely, at least he’d handle his emotions better on a full stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, long story short... looks like the med I was taking didn't work out. But don't worry, I'm still working on this story. Just... very irregularly.
> 
> Oh, and if anyone wants to bug me about updates on the fic, I decided to set up a Tumblr account at nobodyinthelookingglass.tumblr.com. While it's ridiculously rambly and about half of it is updates on the medication fiasco - apparently I can't tell the difference between the internet and a personal journal - it's at least there, and I accept messages and asks in case you want to know where on earth this fic is at. I also find it helps me to figure out plot or character problems if I can ramble about them, and so the less-spoilery parts of this rambling are over there, in case you're interested.


	11. Burning Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. I am so very sorry for taking so long to update.
> 
> I'm also sorry that I can't promise to get any better about updating frequently, but at least this should demonstrate that I am, in fact, still working on this story. I do plan to finish eventually. And as a reward for your patience - I hope you enjoy Roy's POV! I spent the longest time trying to get Edward to work with me for this chapter but eventually decided that hearing from Mustang would be arguably more fun, and also helped me get past some major writer's block (which is one of my many inadequate excuses for not finishing this sooner; I'll save you rest of them.) I'm not completely satisfied with it, but at this point I'll just post it anyway so I can move on to hopefully better stuff, finally.
> 
> And thank you everyone who's continued to read and comment and leave kudos - you have no idea how much you all make me smile, and I hope I can finally get over Stuff enough to give you better and more frequent updates, because you're awesome.

When Edward got out of the shower, damp hair still dripping rivulets that soaked into his shirt and smelling of steam and soap, Roy Mustang steadfastly did _not_ look in his direction.

When Edward silently stepped in close enough to fill a plate from the platter of food that Vanessa had brought a few minutes previously, Roy’s gaze was still trained on the fascinating mess of bacon and eggs and syrup on his own plate. Of course he completely ignored the lock of hair that clung to Edward’s neck, had slid under the collar of his shirt, that doubtless laid over the curve of Edward’s collarbone in a silky trail perfect for following with one’s lips should some lucky soul be allowed that privilege by the scowling young man who had just claimed the rest of the pancakes. It wasn’t _Roy’s_ fault that he could see so much from the corner of his eye.

And when Edward flopped down on the bed - the _thump_ and the rustling of blankets made the sound unmistakable; Roy could only imagine the way Edward sprawled with unconscious grace, cradling the plate to keep it upright, risking syrup on the pillows - the only reason he considered joining the young man was because he was tired. Being injured and poisoned had really taken it out of him. It certainly wasn’t because the bed was too small, too narrow, and no one could fault him if he pressed too close to the slender body that stretched leisurely across it.

(For all that he played at deceptions required by politics, Roy Mustang was a terrible liar when the target of the falsehoods was himself.)

For once, Edward was quiet, and Roy might have guessed it was due to his bodyguard’s promise to ‘stay out of his hair’. But his own words repeated to himself, teasing perhaps gone too far, the lines of all-too-familiar strain around Edward’s eyes as he’d told Roy to shut up, filled the room with an almost-visible cloud of tension. More than that, he’d spoken too freely the day before, most likely under the influence of the poison in his system; he’d been too unguarded over lunch, too distracted by the way the sunlight through the window turned Edward’s eyes into sparkling citrine and his hair into liquid gold. He’d messed up. He’d _known_ he would, it wasn’t even the first time; for all that he’d been careful, tried to keep things professional, avoided inviting the Elric brothers when the team went to a local bar so that alcohol didn’t loosen his tongue and ruin everything, he couldn’t account entirely for exhaustion, for injury, for just the right combination of circumstances to mute his better judgement while his mouth continued on its merry way.

At least - at least things weren’t ruined, not yet. Edward would sulk, things would be awkward until a stronger emotion - likely irritation - broke through the tense atmosphere, and Roy’s blunders would be forgotten as teasing gone too far. With any luck, Roy would learn to control himself before it happened too many times and Edward got tired of dealing with him.

Well, before that happened, he should at least deal with the matters at hand.

He’d debriefed Hawkeye via Alphonse’s brilliantly cobbled-together radio, after he had hastened to assure her of his perfectly good health. Roy was quite sure she hadn’t believed a word of it, but unlike the perfectly-sized wonder who was enthusiastically devouring an admittedly fantastic breakfast behind him, Hawkeye rarely bothered to voice her doubt of Roy’s completely sound judgement, thank you very much. Instead, her concerns were expressed via the extremely precise tone of every “Yes, Sir”. Roy couldn’t exactly fault either of them for their doubts; his miscalculations from the past 24 hours had indeed been more costly than he cared to admit aloud. But the game was not quite over yet.

Hawkeye, at this moment, would be contacting Captain Catalina regarding the dinner tonight and ensuring its safety, as well as starting the appropriate rumors at the military headquarters. Perhaps it was for the best that Vanessa was here, as Roy was hardly in a position to do the same on the civilian front at the moment, given the dangerous conditions and his unfamiliarity with the city after being away from it for so long. Perhaps she could -

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud and rather adorable yawn from Edward. Roy involuntarily glanced over to see the young man settling more comfortably into the bed, comforter wrapped around him, while eyeing Roy’s still-full plate. Roy realized that he had not taken a single bite from it since Edward exited the bathroom. He picked up his fork (when had he dropped it?) and took another bite from his interrupted breakfast. Yes, he would have to discuss the spreading of appropriate rumors with Vanessa, perhaps when she brought the promised phone. Maybe it would even distract her from her crusade to have him call Madame. Not that he was trying to avoid his own aunt and surrogate mother; but he was quite sure he had said some particularly unguarded things the last time he was drunk, and Edward was _beyond_ gorgeous with his drying hair sticking every which way -

Roy only realized he was staring when Edward barked out an irritable, “What?”

He hastily assembled his scattered thoughts. “You’ll catch a cold if you sleep with wet hair,” he said, forcing a patronizing tone.

It was the wrong thing to say. Normally, Edward would snap back; normally, the banter would escalate into something one step from anger on both sides; Roy would bear witness to the breathtaking rage that never _quite_ went too far but came uncomfortably close; he would respond in kind, and awkwardness would be forgotten as a very slightly more professional distance was reestablished between them. But Edward’s muttered and unenthusiastic “Fuck you” as he buried his face in his arm sounded more miserable than angry. Yet another miscalculation; Edward was still stressed after what was very likely a much longer night than he’d implied earlier, and too drained to expend energy on Roy’s pathetic attempts to rally him.

Putting aside the plate - Roy wasn’t hungry enough to finish it anyway - he rose and cursorily searched the closet, which, as he suspected, held a not-insignificant amount of linens and towels. Picking up one of the latter, he turned back to the bed where Edward lay with his eyes closed; and, because Roy was feeling just the slightest bit immature, he proceeded to drop the towel over Edward’s face. This, at least, was enough to spark the appropriate reaction. Edward proceeded to flail energetically, and his glare once he had ripped the towel from his face was as baleful as Roy could have possibly hoped. “Hey, what the fuck, asshole?”

This was closer to familiar ground. “You’re welcome,” he replied placidly.

“I can take care of my own hair,” Edward snapped.

Oh, but how Roy would love to help him. “I know,” he said, instead of _please allow me the incredible privilege of worshiping each and every strand._

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“Trust me, thinking of you as a child is the furthest thing from my mind,” Roy couldn’t resist responding as his side twinged and he lost track of the far more convoluted, clever thing he had surely been about to say.

Thankfully, Edward wasn’t quite perceptive enough to notice the latest addition to the parade of Roy Mustang’s errors, since he turned away, rubbed his face, yawned again, and closed his eyes. Roy didn’t move until Edward’s breath evened out, signaling that the young man had fallen asleep. Perhaps now he could bring his thoughts back to the task of spinning the last 24 hours' worth of events to his own benefit.

Resolutely, he turned the chair to face away from the bed where golden hair fanned across the snowy white pillow, and opened a notebook to jot down his thoughts on the current situation.

\-----

By the end of the afternoon, Roy was feeling marginally more like himself.

Despite distraction personified swaying his focus in the form of a softly-snoring bundle of blankets on the bed, Roy had, in fact, apologized profusely during his call with Madame; convinced Vanessa to set in motion the complex machinations that was the local rumor mill; sent appropriately doctored information on the previous day’s bombing to the local radio station and newspapers; and heard Hawkeye’s abbreviated, second-hand reports of Catalina’s dealings with the evening’s catering staff. Havoc was assigned to bug the Colonel’s home during the party; Fuery had nothing further to report from listening to East City Headquarters; and Alphonse was reportedly getting the sleep he richly deserved in the abandoned house that functioned as their headquarters.

Finally, Vanessa had dropped off a fresh dress uniform for Roy (he didn’t question how she’d gotten it) and a very nice dark brown suit for Edward, similar to his usual style. Somehow, it fit the newly-woken young man to perfection, the jacket seemingly tailored to the slim lines of his body, accentuating the broadness of his well-muscled shoulders. Not to mention the way the fitted pants clung to -

Roy had chosen to subject himself to this, he reminded himself. This was his price for insisting that Edward remain with him throughout this mission. Roy would get himself together, and do his job, and maintain the required space between himself and his contracted bodyguard.

“Are you ready, Edward?” he said aloud. He straightened his gloves as he spoke. They hadn’t actually needed to be straightened.

“As ready as I will be,” Edward said, with a sleepy look of uncertainty. Roy still had yet to explain the plan for the evening. Right.

“I have made arrangements for the meal tonight,” Roy told him. “Only take food from platters you see me eat from, or carried by waiters wearing purple carnations. Only drink from glasses offered by the same waiters. If you are offered food or drink by anyone else, find a way to refuse politely or dispose of it discretely.” The evening’s meal was still a risky proposition - the catering staff had been paid for their discretion, after all, which implied that they could be bought by a higher bidder. But Catalina had been particularly sure of the success of her negotiations, and Roy felt mostly confident in her precautions.

Edward nodded, expression clearing, and Roy handed him a hairbrush that had arrived with the rest of the clothing. He was, perhaps, overly conscious of the way Edward avoided letting their fingers touch as he took it.

And then there was nothing more to discuss.

A Brigadier General, of course, was expected to arrive in military transport; and accordingly, Havoc had commandeered a vehicle from East City Headquarters. Roy and Edward would meet their ride a few blocks away. There would be no need to speak as they walked; any further discussion of the evening could happen as needed.

Yet, as soon as they started down the street, Roy still found himself asking, “Do you have any questions regarding the plans for the evening?”

Edward was silent for a moment, and Roy glanced over to try to gauge his expressions. His glance was caught and held by the way the sunlight glinted off Edward’s hair, as Edward frowned in thought at the sidewalk.

“What do I tell people my job is tonight? Usually you military bastards don’t bring contracted bodyguards along to these snorefests. Even if you obviously need someone watching your ass,” Edward finally said.

Roy looked away before Edward could catch him staring (again), and tried to ignore the implied doubts of his capability in favor of answering the question. “If anyone asks, you intend to visit with former colleagues at your former posting. While I won’t go so far as to suggest that you attempt to make small talk, if you see anyone who you might reasonably chat briefly with -”

“Excuse me, did you really just fucking imply that I’m not even capable of talking with people normally?”

Golden eyes glared with restrained fury. Roy shook his head. Was it the word ‘small’? “Edward, I -”

“Never mind, I don’t want to hear whatever it is. I’m supposed to be socializing, got it. Do I have to be within four goddamn feet of you at all times, too?”

Roy wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said wrong this time. “As long as you are within view, and capable of reaching me quickly if an emergency occurs - or if Colonel Kurzmann leaves the room for more than five minutes - you should be able to go where you please.”

Edward nodded, straightened his shoulders, and continued the rest of the walk in silence.

Havoc hadn’t arrived yet when they reached their destination - a small, cheerful-looking cafe where Roy had frequently taken Madame’s women as a cover. Roy took a deep breath, leaned against a wrought iron railing, and properly looked at his companion. “Edward, if I have given you cause for offense -”

“No.” Edward didn’t meet his eyes.

“I - what?” Roy blinked.

“No. You’re going to apologize, but you don’t know what you’re apologizing for, so it doesn’t mean shit. So don’t bother.”

Instead of responding at once, Roy stopped to think. Obviously, Edward was upset about something - had been upset all day, in fact, and perhaps even earlier, given the uncharacteristic silences and unenergetic responses Roy faintly recalled from the previous day. Was he still frustrated that Roy was putting himself in danger? No, surely not - Edward had no trouble being vocal about his concerns earlier; it was highly unlikely that he would choose to remain silent if he still had problems to voice on that account. Actually, it was unusual that Edward would be quite so obviously annoyed over anything without offering any indication of what he was annoyed about.

Or… was it? The past month and a half rearranged themselves in Roy’s head. Edward certainly expressed his annoyance with many things frequently, and at a significantly loud volume - but he’d become remarkably reticent about what, in particular, bothered him, beyond surface incidents such as comments about height or patronizing remarks. Edward picked fights just as much as much as he did as a teenager; but something fundamental had changed since then. Back then, even if the underlying causes of his ire were not always immediately apparent, they soon came out after a few minutes of inflamed emotions over something ostensibly minor. Now though - maybe there was a pattern to the silences and sullen remarks, a pattern that Roy couldn’t quite recall having been there before. Certainly, Edward no longer expressed his grievances quite as freely as he once did.

People changed. It hadn’t taken long since Edward had reappeared for Roy to notice that he was no longer dealing with a child, and not that long afterward to develop a significant crush on the stunning, brilliant, newly-mature young man who had seamlessly reinserted himself into Roy's office and life. It would be a disservice to them both to read Edward’s actions entirely through the lens of his teenage self. No, he could not honestly say to himself that he understood the undercurrent of tension between them, or that he quite knew why Edward was so skittish around him, except when they both were engaged in… noisy verbal exchanges. Certainly Roy could imagine a thousand possible reasons, but perhaps he was going about this the wrong way. Rather than spin theories, it might be better to just - ask.

“Then enlighten me,” Roy finally responded, in as open a voice as he could. “Edward, I value you very much as a colleague -” and far more than that “- and whatever I am doing to cause you distress, I… would like the opportunity, at least, to fix it.” He allowed the earnestness he felt to bleed into his expression.

Edward looked away, the bangs that framed his face falling forward to hide his eyes. He spoke quietly - almost timidly, Roy thought. “I... it’s not... er.” Edward shook his head, his bangs still shadowing his face. “You don’t need to worry about me,” Edward continued tiredly. “It’s my problem, and I won’t let it affect my capacity to do my job.”

Since when had Edward spoken timidly or tiredly? Or had Roy just not noticed? “That is not the issue here,” he said as firmly as he could. “I am not, and have never been, worried about your competency in anything you are assigned to do.” Unless it was to minimize property damage, but Roy hardly felt the need to bring that up at the moment. “Is it _that_ difficult to believe that I actually care about your happiness?”

Edward looked up then, emotions flitting across his face, shock being foremost, a tiny flash of - was that hope? - but finally settling on a frustrated grimace that contained a surprising amount of sadness. “I -”

Havoc chose that moment to pull up at the curb in front of them, and relief followed the previous train of emotions. “We can talk later,” Edward said wryly, in a voice that implied some sort of private joke.

“Brigadier General, Sir!” Havoc saluted sharply. “And heya, Boss!”

Mustang returned the salute absently, and got into the car. “It’s good to see you looking better, Sir,” Havoc said.

Mustang glanced at Edward after the young man joined him in the back seat, but from the way Edward slouched and tried to burn a hole in the storefront opposite with his stare, it was obvious that their conversation was over. He turned his attention to Havoc. “I rather prefer not being nearly dead as well, First Lieutenant. I’m glad you agree.”

“Yes, Sir,” Havoc grinned. “Ready for tonight?”

Right, the mission. The mission was the important part here; he would find time to review the new, inexplicable patterns in Edward’s behavior later. He smiled grimly, and relaxed back in the seat of the car as it pulled away from the curb. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see my original draft of the first scene of this chapter - from Edward's POV, with a few minor alterations from the current version - you can find it at [my tumblr](http://nobodyinthelookingglass.tumblr.com/post/163398653973/wnc-chapter-11-deleted-scenerough-draft), as well as a bit of a ramble about why I ultimately decided it didn't work and switched POVs. Warning: it's obviously not my best work (or that would've been the version I posted here), but I figure it might interest a few people to see it.


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